Fractured
by JMK758
Summary: Elizabeth Cutler has escaped captivity on Kitaris IV, but the challenges that await her will try her soul. Captain Archer struggles to end a war that threatens to destroy all life on the planet. Please Review. Should this end my series?
1. Farewell, with tears

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise and everything connected with it, except Tia Anlor (Tee-ah' Ahn'-lor) and other original characters who belong to me. And I'm not sharing. (G)

This is the 29th story in this series, the others being 'Casting Call', 'Golden Girl'; 'A Few Words'; 'Glistni'; 'Small Time'; 'Acquisition'; 'What Do I Do Now?'; 'For Want of Kilyiis'; 'Daasii'; 'Noblesse Oblige'; 'Roses and Thorny'; 'Time and Again', 'House of Cards', 'Starlight Maiden', 'Armageddon', 'Luuru', 'Cross and Crown', 'Pulsar', 'Face in the Dark Mirror', 'Time Stream', 'Treaty / Violation', 'Humiliatum', 'Clara', 'Life Goes On', 'Sufferance', 'The Court Martial of Hoshi Sato', 'Empress Sato' and 'Extreme Prejudice'. Later stories will include 'Unification' and 'Two Golden Candles'. Tia has been on the Enterprise for about eleven months.

This would be about the end of the Second Season. In the course of this series, the Xindi incident never happens. The crew continues their mission of exploration.

Rating: G

Perspective: This story takes place the day after 'Extreme Prejudice'.

Fractured

By: JMK758

Prologue

(From 'Extreme Prejudice')

"Tell me about this Corporal." Archer directs. He makes sure to pitch his voice low enough so that their conversation can not be heard by their six crewmates across the Sick Bay. He would have a great deal of 'private' material to cover, and did not want a sudden drop in tone later to be notable.

"Alah Korvakai. I've just seen her. She's in Decon; for her own protection rather than ours. Her entire body is severely degraded due to her imprisonment. She's suffering from malnutrition, dehydration and the numerous ills incident to long captivity. We're feeding her basic proteins and nutrients intravenously; her system will not be ready for solid food in sufficient quantity for several days, and we are re-hydrating her as rapidly as possible, also intravenously."

"You can help her, of course." He says, thinking of the possible future should these people be amenable to any help Starfleet might be able to offer.

"Better than she will allow."

The wording concerns Archer. "How so?"

"Among her injuries is a shattered right hand. All the bones were broken some weeks ago and allowed to 'heal' without medical attention. Her hand is gnarled, almost immobile; essentially useless. I told her that with surgery to repair her bones, and with reconstruction of her nervous and muscular systems, I could give her back 90 percent usage of her hand. She refused."

"Why?"

"Maimed as she is, she is ineligible for active duty. If I restore her hand, she will be put back on the lines. Apparently, her captivity has left her with little love left for fighting." He does not express his feelings in words about her choice to go through the rest of her life with this disability. He does not have to.

'Starfleet has to do something to help these people.' Archer thinks. The thought of just breaking orbit and leaving these people at war with one another is intolerable. But he can just hear Admiral Maxwell Forrest now:

'I'm sorry, Jon, but if these people won't listen, there's not a lot you can do.'

'I have to find some way to get them to listen.'

x

"Now, what about Ms. Cutler?" He asks; trying to get onto something he can do something about. She is his _real_ concern, even if he had to deal with 'business' first. "Travis said she feared she'd nearly lost her baby."

Phlox shakes his head with the almost patronizing smile of a doctor to a layman. "The embryo was never in any danger. Even had it been a fetus … Captain, evolution has placed so many safeguards in a human body that blunt force trauma, even of the level reported by Ensign Mayweather, could not have had any effect upon the embryo. It has not, after all, even been five and a half weeks since conception. Had she not been so emotionally overwhelmed by her trauma she would have realized that for herself." He drops his voice then, and his smile vanishes.

"I am more concerned, actually, with what happened during the rescue. Not only did she seek revenge upon her assailant, assaulting him in turn several times; which fact I can understand; but she lost emotional control to such a degree that she turned a gun on Ensign Mayweather, and the report I just read indicates he believes she was about to fire.

"Further, had Lieutenant Reed not stopped her, she would have murdered her former assailant."

"Doctor…"

"Yes, I know. She was under extraordinary stresses, but I have to consider her emotional well being and, quite frankly, her stability under less stressful conditions. Until I am satisfied, I am ordering a 'Period of Observation' for her."

Archer is not at all happy to hear this, but in matters of medicine even he cannot overrule the doctor's judgment. "Does she know?"

"Not yet. I'll be speaking to her soon, after further evaluation. It _may_ not be necessary. Until then, I am going to assign her to work closely with Mother McCabe. Perhaps that will be what she needs."

Archer looks across the room at her, watching as she holds Jim Cein's hand and they talk quietly. Tucker and Sato have already left, Anlor is asleep and Samuels has gone to Decon to check on Korvakai. "I'd hate for her to think we don't trust her."

"So would I. But anyone who would turn a deadly weapon on a fellow officer makes me … concerned."

Archer breaks his gaze, turning back to Phlox. "Let me know how this plays out."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter One

Farewell, with tears

"We are gathered here to pay tribute to our honored dead." Captain Jonathan Archer began with the traditional opening words. They were words every member of Starfleet had heard too often in their careers, words they never wanted to hear again; words that always evoked tears and tightness of throats; words Jonathan _hated_ beyond any others.

It was 1600 hours, change of Alpha/Beta shift; though the primary bridge crew already knew they could look for no rest this day. Gathered before him in the Mess Hall, converted into a Chapel as it normally was weekly, were as many crewmembers as could fit into the room. Closest to the modified torpedo casing draped with a white and blue flag (how ironic was it that the shell of an instrument of destruction was just exactly the right size to serve as a coffin?) were the surviving members of the Life Sciences Division, to pay their final honors to one of their own.

Even so, two of their remaining number were absent, confined to Sick Bay; so two spaces in the front line were left for them among the standing officers. They would be able to watch the proceedings on the monitor from their beds. Thus the entire compliment of the Division was present; the living, the wounded and the dead.

Throughout the assembled ranks, all who could physically fit into the Mess Hall, there were constrained emotions. Everyone who watched felt the pain of loss deeply. John Abrams was well known to everyone here, he was much loved and his loss affected everyone strongly. Most tried to contain their grief, some could not. There were quiet exclamations of grief more poignant than strident cries would have been.

Beside Archer stood Rev. Patricia McCabe, wearing traditional white vestments. She would conduct the 'Mass of the Resurrection' following Starfleet's 'Ceremony of Commitment', before the casing containing the mortal remains of Lieutenant John Abrams would be conveyed to the Armory for final honors and final debarkation. This time, the wishes of the departed were known ahead of time; he was to be sent to the planet closest to the ship at the time of his committal.

It was a horrible irony that, in granting this final wish, he would be sent to the planet he had been approaching in the last minutes of his life, the planet he had never set foot upon, the planet where he had died.

xxx

Nearly two hours later, following dinner, Lieutenant Hoshi Sato entered Sick Bay with Phlox, who continued on to the main area to consult the updated readings on his patients and to give Hoshi a few seconds alone with her friends. She turned to her left to the two occupied biobeds upon which Tia Anlor and Elizabeth Cutler lay, came up between them and glanced to her left at the intravenous unit on the other side of Tia's bed. It is less than half full, the golden blood collected long before winding its way via a tube back into her right arm. "Well, you two look relaxed." She said it with a smile that could be seen to be forced from a kilometer away. She knew her friends would never have been left unattended if there was any chance of danger.

"Hey, there's not a lot to do here, _with everyone gone_." Elizabeth called across the room, favoring the Doctor with a mock glare before returning her attention to Hoshi. She tried to smile, but it was wan and faded rapidly. "How did it go?"

"Nice." Hoshi answered as levelly as she could, still trying to maintain that weak smile, her expression trying to show a composure she did not feel. She knew her friends had seen it all; they were just looking for words. "It was a nice Service. Captain Archer and Mother McCabe did it together. It was … nice." She finished in a whisper.

"I wish…" Liz began sadly, but emotion stole her voice.

"Hey, everyone knew, everyone understood." She patted the woman sympathetically; then looked at Tia in the bed to her left. "How do you feel?" The Auran woman shrugged as slowly and carefully as she could; trying to avoid the pain of the gunshot wound to her chest. She did not look up at the dripping gold blood which was slowly revitalizing her.

"Is custom Auran nyasi; celebration of new birth we see, especially since came the Silurians; but still wish I to say 'goodbye' could have."

An aborted sob drew Hoshi's attention to Liz, but the woman was biting her lip hard, trying not to give in. It was bad enough to lose a friend to such senseless violence; worse to be prevented by one's own wounds from offering a final tribute.

It was several seconds before Liz could speak, and her emotions reduced her voice to a tight whisper. "We watched it on the monitor. You're right – it was nice." Her body trembled as her breath fragmented with unshed tears. "It was – it was nice. John would – John would – would -." She couldn't hold out any longer as Hoshi gathered her into her arms and they clung to one another, grief shared by no means diminished.

Hoshi felt Tia touch her, looking over her shoulder as the Auran woman reached as far as she could for her friends, and Hoshi pulled the two rolling beds closer together, trying to perform the near impossible task of offering comfort to both of them at once. Tia, unable to break with the longstanding restriction of her people, did not cry – visibly.

xx

It was a long time before enough tears had been shed to give way to their control, both women relaxing as well as they could upon the beds. Tia had clung to Hoshi as well as she could, utterly silent while Liz sobbed; her heart breaking. Finally it passed and they could lay still. The women felt no better. Control had been established, not peace.

"You going to be okay?" Hoshi asked her best friend.

"Ask me some other day. I can't now." She kept her voice carefully controlled; not wanting to give in again. "John and I were … we knew each other even before coming to the Enterprise. It'll be … hard … knowing he's gone."

Hoshi took her hand, offering what comfort she could, knowing it was not enough. "I know."

When Liz broke eye contact first, looking away, unable to endure the grief any longer and not give in, Hoshi looked behind herself to Tia.

Anlor's grief has been briefer – but only on the surface. It was true that, since their planet had been conquered and their entire race forced into slavery, death was something of a release from the hardships of life, but Hoshi could see she was still torn by a 'balance' of human grief versus the passing to a new life.

But it was the physical side that concerned Hoshi at the moment. Her friend, revealed to be an alien by the discovery of her golden skin, had been shot by a rifle and left for dead.

Had she been human, or even a member of the Bethesnan race down on the planet below them, she would have died instantly from the attack. However, no matter how 'humanoid' Tia appeared outwardly, it was her internal features that saved her. Among other differences between the golden woman and the humans aboard this vessel, her six chambered heart was placed a good ten centimeters lower, just above her abdomen. If not for that, the bullet that struck her would have been instantly fatal.

As it was, she had been left for dead by the soldiers who had captured Travis Mayweather and Elizabeth Cutler; though it was the striking of her head on a rock that had left her unconscious. When she'd awakened, she had crawled an agonizing two hundred meters back to the wrecked Shuttlepod Two and managed to send a distress signal to Enterprise, allowing the crew to locate her and eventually rescue their other crewmates.

It had been a very close thing, however. The wound, though not immediately fatal, had bled extensively, and she had come close to bleeding to death during her efforts. It was only a timely rescue, Phlox's vast skill, and the foresight of accumulating a supply of blood during the months the Auran had been aboard which had allowed her to survive. It took every drop of accumulated blood that had been stockpiled, and even so had almost not been enough.

It would be some time before the young woman could be fit enough to leave Sick Bay.

x

Though the Auran's wound had been the most seriously life threatening, the series of beatings Liz had endured during her captivity would take her considerable time to recover from as well.

When they had been captured, the Drailen forces on the planet believed them to be mercenaries from their warring neighbors, the Manaxians. So convinced of this were they that they had interrogated Travis Mayweather extensively.

Mayweather had told them everything about Enterprise, its mission, its goals, its Command and crew compliment, everything the Drailen 'Commandant' had wanted to know.

Every word of his testimony had been rejected.

Following their practice that the best method of obtaining truthful information from a prisoner who might well resist any attempts that might be made to force information out of him was to watch someone _else_ suffer, they had dragged Elizabeth Cutler out of her cell and into the Interrogation Room. Hands bound behind her back, Cutler could do nothing to defend herself as a quartet of soldiers methodically and mercilessly beat her.

Travis, similarly bound, could not stop the beatings, but tried everything to get the Drailens to believe his truthful declarations. They would have none of it. He was a Manaxian spy and mercenary, and they would beat the woman until he did confess and give up his secrets.

After three beatings of escalating brutality, they were thrown into another cell 'where her pain would argue with him'. It was there they met another bound captive, Corporal Alah Korvakai, whose months of abuse could only be described as unimaginably horrific. Mangled and brutalized, starved and dehydrated, raped and sodomized almost daily, she had not been allowed to die. She managed to relate the story of what had led to the war which had consumed the world below Enterprise over the past four years. It was a tale unmatched by anything the Enterprise crew had yet encountered.

The planet below, termed Kitaris IV by Starfleet cartographers, was a colony world designated Mandar by settlers from the planet Bethesna. The two largest and most powerful continents of Bethesna, Drail and Manaxia, had squabbled for years over the possession of a huge tract of land, a mass of islands practically a continent in themselves, on their planet, finally going to war over it. On Mandar, or Kitaris IV, colonists on both sides had joined that war on their own world, forcing their fellows to take to the shelter of caves and devise ever more sophisticated jamming fields to protect themselves from rocket attack.

Border patrols frequently engaged in hostile action against neighboring colonies, while the devastated surface, once lush with life and hope, bore the burden of battles fought and lost.

The widespread colonies on the planet were gradually becoming uninhabitable, and still the people fought; seemingly unconcerned that they were battling to their own deaths. Moving to new locations was out of the question – whole populations would be subject to attack, defenseless under fire.

Captain Archer, learning about these things, could not in good conscience turn away. Despite the death of their Chief of Life Sciences, nearly fatal wounding of one scientist and the torture of another, he could not leave untold thousands to die, not without trying to help.

x

"I'm getting out of here in the morning." Liz announced, however, regaining Hoshi's attention.

"Really?" This was good news indeed; but Phlox, standing near the Imaging Chamber, turned from examining the most recent readings on his patients and corrected Cutler.

"I said you should be fit to be released by the morning. I didn't guarantee it."

"Are you saying you can stand to have me around for another day?" She called challengingly.

"Not at all."

Liz glared at him, but he returned an impressively wide smile. She put her head down, 'defeated'. "Borgas frap."

"What was that?" Hoshi exclaimed with a surprised laugh.

"Something my uncle used to call people _who really deserved it_." She called the last across the room. As an insult, it had absolutely no effect upon the Denobulan.

x

"Well, you should get some rest." Hoshi advised. "Life Sciences has nothing pressing to do. The Captain's canceled the research mission, but he wants to try again to contact both the Manaxians and the Drailens, to see if Starfleet can help them talk peace."

"_Peace_?" Liz demanded, outraged, starting to push herself upward. But a moment later, she waved it off, laying back down. "No, forget it. Forget I said anything."

"No. I want to hear it. You were there, and insights you have can be helpful."

"Insights?" She demanded, rage building in her. "They're responsible for John's death, shot Tia, beat the _hell_ out of me, risked my baby and you want _insight_? Here's your insight: Farg 'em all."

"Liz…" Hoshi was shocked. This was not her friend talking.

"Let them _die_!"

Hoshi reached out, touching her hand. When Liz finally met her eyes, she kept her voice as soft as she could. "You don't mean that." She told her with the certainty of long friendship.

She could actually watch the woman's anger drain from her face and allow her true nature to take hold. It was, however, a long and slow process; there was a great deal of rage to overcome. "No, maybe not." She admitted reluctantly. "But don't ask me to be the one who has to negotiate."

"I won't." Hoshi promised her. "We're still waiting to hear from Starfleet, and whatever we do probably won't mean a thing to their home world."

"Probably not." She thought about it, somewhat more calmly now. "Corporal Korvakai is probably your best hope. When Phlox patches her up, maybe her people will listen."

"She won't be 'patched up'." Phlox told them, stepping over.

"What?"

"She has refused any further medical treatment."

"_Why_?" Liz demanded, unable to believe it. "She's a mess."

"I can help with her malnutrition, her dehydration; I can even restore her right hand to 90 percent efficiency – and her Unit will put her right back on duty. She'll probably see combat again within the week. With her right hand useless as it is, she cannot serve. She'd rather spend the rest of her days with this and other disabilities than risk being killed or captured again."

"Damn. Can you talk to her?"

He gave her the Denobulan version of a shrug, raising both arms from his sides. "I've done nothing for her for an entire day but talk."

"But if her people see we can help, that we will help," Hoshi interjected, "they may be more willing to talk."

"I'll see what I can do when she awakens." He did not sound optimistic. "In the meantime, both of you need your rest." Seeing Tia about to respond, he was faster. "I'll sedate you if you don't."

She put her head down. "Maktinaviyuk." She whispered.

Hoshi grinned at her. "Do you kiss Trip with that mouth?"

She turned back. "Aurans do 'kiss' nyasi."

"Good thing." Liz interjected.

"Just 'pretend' I do."

"Pretend what?" She asked, suddenly intensely curious.

Tia grinned at her, but refused to answer.

x

"_Anyway_," Hoshi said firmly, trying to get the conversation back on track, knowing her friend would keep working on the other woman until she found out everything, "as soon as Corporal Korvakai is discharged and beamed down to her Unit – we're not using a shuttle again – we'll be seeing what we can do."

"Then I do have to get back to work." Liz protested, about to rise, but she could not get past Phlox's restraining hand upon her shoulder. "Life Sciences is short handed now more than ever." She protested to him. "There's still work to be done on a dozen different projects." Seeing her words fall on deaf ears, she turned her appeal to Hoshi. "And with John gone, it's going to be chaos down there. Can you imagine our three remaining Scientists with no supervision? It's going to be like 'Keystone Kops'."

"There's Supervision." Hoshi told her. "A temporary Department Head has already been appointed."

"Really?" She asked, pleasantly surprised; though she decided she should have known better. "Who got tagged? Dina?"

"Nope."

"Sam? He's good. Not like Dina, but good."

"Nope."

"Not Sarah!" Liz exclaimed with real distress.

"Nope."

Liz frowned up at her. "We're fresh out. There was John, Dina, Sam, Sarah, Tia and …" Her voice trailed off at Hoshi's slowly growing smile. "Oh, no. No no no no no. No _way_, no _how_. _Forget it_!"

"Actually, it's me."

Liz's ongoing series of refusals came to a crashing halt, and she stared up at her friend in profound disbelief. "_You_?"

"Yep. Say 'hello' to your new boss."

x

"_Borgas Frap_! Are you _nuts_? You're kidding me."

Hoshi shrugged somewhat helplessly. "Department head: Lieutenant and above; so the Regs say. I was already head of Communications as an Ensign. I think they were wondering where they can put me."

"So they gave you to US?" Hoshi nodded. "Great Bird Preserve Us. What you know about Biology can be scrawled on a nanochip."

"Hey."

"This is the end of Life Sciences as we know it."

Hoshi laughed at her friend's clearly false distress; the woman couldn't even keep from a barely concealed smile as she 'ranted'. "Don't worry. It's only temporary, until they find a permanent man. You'll barely know I'm around. I'll just be popping down during my breaks to chew all of you out for the lousy jobs you're doing; then go back to the bridge."

"We should be so lucky. You'll probably turn into one of those micromanagers, inspecting the Petri dishes every morning."

"Nope; every evening. And no dinner for you until they're all clean."

"Wonderful. Here comes that diet I've been thinking about. I haven't had a clean Petri in months."

"Forget 'diet'; you're eating for two, remember."

"Not likely to forget." She retorted, patting her abdomen. She looked down at herself. There was no indication there of her pregnancy; her girth, five weeks since conception, having increased by less than half an inch. "I hope you appreciate all the aggravation your mommy's going to be going through for you."

"I'm sure he will."

"He'd _better_."

"_Anyway_," she repeated, "I have to get back up to the bridge."

Liz glanced at the chronometer on the wall across the room, wondering if her enforced dormancy had caused her to lose track of time. It had not. "It's 1822 hours."

"No rest for the wicked. Captain Archer is still trying to get a hold of someone willing to talk to us."

"Good _luck_."

Tia reached out, getting Hoshi's attention. "I you congratulate."

"Don't give her 'congratulations'." Liz advised. "Make it 'condolences'; I intend to put her through Hell."

"You always do."


	2. Closed

Chapter Two

Closed

"Captain's Log, August 23rd, 1900 hours; we are continuing to transmit messages to the planet below, hoping someone in the Drailen compound will answer. Thus far, we have had no success, despite the fact that they retain three of our communicators. We have not beamed them back to the ship in hopes of establishing communications; but thus far this hope has failed."

Jonathan Archer turned off the record control on the computer panel on the armrest of his chair before any of his feelings might flow into his tone. He had a heavy ambivalence about this contact. Though the war raging on the planet's surface had cost the life of Lt. John Abrams, it went against all his principles to just warp away without seeing what could be done to end the internecine conflict.

The colonists on the planet beneath them, named Kitaris IV by Earthbound cartographers in honor of the discoverer of the star, Mikhail Kitaris, were natives of the planet Bethesna who had named their new home 'Mandar'. They had taken sides in a long standing war over territory back home; had dug into shelters below ground, once intended as emergency facilities, now the principle habitation of thousands of people; from which they fought a bloody and merciless civil war.

The peoples who had emigrated from Drail and Manaxia, the two largest and most powerful continents on their home planet, had commenced fighting here in response to the outbreak of battles at home, and without intervention it did not seem that either side was going to win. In fact, it was doubtful they would even survive.

x

T'Pol's analysis showed that, while vegetation and animal life were once plentiful on the surface surrounding the eleven centers of colonization, battles on the surface had taken their toll. Farming of the now uncultivated areas was haphazard at best, so inefficient that civilized occupation on the planet had gone undetected at first; and most animal life had departed from regions that could be most generously described as 'unstable'.

Enterprise's sensors had not detected any signs of intelligent life, because everyone on the planet was hidden in caves far below the surface, shielded from advanced sensors by over a hundred meters of rock and native metallic ore. The 'shields' that now protected the stronghold below them had been activated when Shuttlepod Two had been shot down. In response to the activation of those shields all the other distortion fields had gone on over the other bases. This had been in expectation of an attack; it now rendered the other locations easy to locate by leaving everything under them 'blank' areas on the Enterprise's screens.

It was enough for T'Pol to draw some inescapable conclusions. Production of food could not now be considered adequate to feed a population that was itself shrinking from casualties of battle. Confinement to underground shelters, themselves intended only for brief occupation during times of unexpected natural disaster, was taking a heavy toll upon the health of the people. Alah Korvakai had told them she had not seen the sun in nearly four years, save for patrols and battles upon the surface. Non-combatants had not been so lucky.

Decreasing population due to casualties and the lack of any influx of colonists were taking their toll as well. Colonists hired mercenaries to bolster their ranks; and though there was never a shortage of people willing to fight for gain, it was of no benefit to the colonists.

Projections showed that, if the violence did not cease, the entire population of the planet would be extinct within four years.

x

"One more time, Lieutenant." Archer directed, trying to hide a sigh. He did not have very high hopes that this attempt at contact would be any more successful than the others had been. Hoshi Sato, at her communications board, attempted again to open a channel, this time transmitting to Ensign Mayweather's commandeered communicator.

"This is the USS Enterprise to the inhabitants of Kitaris IV. We know you can hear us; please respond." A few seconds later she tried again, then muted the signal. "The channel is open, sir. All three of the communicators are functioning and active; they're just not answering."

"When they had us in the 'Commandant's' office," Travis reminded them from his station at the helm, "they had everything we carried, though the UT was tossed into the cell with us and we brought it aboard."

"Are you sure," Archer asked, turning to Hoshi, "that the translator is tied in?"

The woman very carefully masked her thoughts, which ran along the lines of 'do I look like an idiot to you?', from her expression. "Yes, sir."

"Bring it up." When she signaled that sound was restored; he turned to the forward screen. There was actually no particular need to do so; audio receptors would pick up his voice from any point on the bridge; it was just habit developed from the number of communications systems that allowed visual contact. He truly wished this was one of them. "This is Captain Jonathan Archer, commanding the Enterprise. We know the circuits are open and that you understand us. Please respond." He waited, mentally counting to thirty; then sighed quietly. "Turn it off, Lieutenant, we'll try la –."

"What do you want?" A voice heavily laden with suspicion demanded from the speaker in the overhead.

Archer glanced at Hoshi with a look that said '_Finally'_ as sharply as any words could. Travis silently conveyed that the voice was that of the man who had interrogated both Elizabeth Cutler and himself. "We want to speak to you about a matter of the utmost urgency."

"I don't talk to Manaxian kelbratgt." The UT did not render the word, which for Archer was just as well.

"I think you realize by now that we are not 'Manaxians'. You must know by now that Ensigns Mayweather and Cutler have been brought back to our ship by means you probably have not been able to detect. We also have your other prisoner, Corporal Korvakai. We've retrieved Crewwoman Anlor – who your soldiers did not kill – as well as the body of our Lieutenant Abrams. Our shuttlepod has been stripped of all salvageable components and has been destroyed from orbit. All these things you either know or can easily find out. Now we just want to talk."

"Talk." The voice repeated with heavy irony. "Manaxians do not talk; they kill. I do not know how your forces could have infiltrated our base past our security, but rest assured we will find your collaborators and they will be dealt with."

Archer signaled Hoshi to mute the audio again. "Travis?"

"The man has been waging war for so long he can't see the possibility of a neutral party. When we were there he was convinced we were alien mercenaries and would not hear anything different. To him, there are Drailen allies and Manaxian enemies; there's no one else in his universe."

Archer decided to try one more time. Signaling to Hoshi, he resumed the 'conversation' as though it had never been interrupted. "Regardless of whom you may think we are, we are neutral parties not involved in your war and wish to help." He tried to triply emphasize the point, hoping to break through. "It is possible we can orchestrate a peaceful settlement to your conflict."

"I don't know who you are, but we will trace your communications, find and exterminate you."

"You'll find that difficult. We're in orbit over thirty five thousand of our kilometers above your surface."

"Your spies have related the fiction of your coming from another world on a _peaceful_ mission." The man accused with infinite distain. "Though our own ships were rendered useless in the early days of this war," ('They were probably destroyed', Archer interjected mentally), "we do have an effective force of mercenary ships. If you are in orbit above us, you will not be there long."

"Please understand. We are on a peaceful mission, and take no sides in your war. We want to help you to bring it to a conclusion."

"There will be only one conclusion to this war; the total destruction of all Manaxians!"

x

"He closed the channel." Hoshi reported; then a moment later she amended it to: "He's closed all three."

'Just as well." Archer concluded. "No need for open communications with a closed mind. T'Pol, do you detect any ships on the planet?"

"Negative. The jamming field is very efficient."

"I can imagine." He expected it had been refined many times over in the past four years. It was one of the reasons they had not found their missing crew until it was nearly too late.

"It covers an area 70 kilometers in diameter, and I can detect absolutely nothing within. It does not hinder communications, which is fortunate as that was the only way we could get a fix on the shuttlepod's coordinates, but sensors are useless. We do, however, now have an accurate fix upon our communicators. If they are still in the office Mr. Mayweather described, we can retrieve them and our other equipment using the transporter."

"Are the other locations still protected?"

"All ten, scattered over this section the planet, activated jamming screens within moments of the one below us, possibly in expectation of an attack. None have lowered them."

"Four Drailen 'bases' and seven Manaxian." Travis supplied, repeating what he knew from his conversation with Alah Korvakai.

"It's likely," Reed interjected from Tactical, "considering the odds, that this 'Commandant' feels outnumbered and defensive." They had never managed to learn the hieratical structure of the Drailen military, so Travis' designation of 'Commandant' served as well as any other title. "He's not likely to be willing to talk, certainly not with an enemy that has a presumed tactical superiority.

"The Manaxians may be more willing to talk." Ann Anderson put in from her station at the Sensor Board in the rear of the bridge.

x

Archer nodded. He knew, however, that their best chance of _that_ lay in whatever good will they could garner from helping the wounded soldier in their Sick Bay. But what he had learned from Phlox made him dubious about having much success in that area.

She had refused medical treatment; knowing that in the ongoing conflict, if she returned hale and hearty, she would be back in the fight very quickly. Weeks or months of captivity and torture; they still did not have an accurate figure; had left her with no desire to see any more battle. She would rather live a life with the deforming injuries inflicted upon her during her captivity than to return to the war.

x

"Sir?" Travis asked, reading his Captain's expression correctly. "Perhaps if I were to talk to the Corporal? We did develop a rapport while we were down there." 'When Liz wasn't threatening to beat her to a pulp if she got loose.' He added mentally.

Archer had to admit that it sounded like a workable plan. Mutual sharing of danger was one way to bring two such disparate individuals to some understanding. It was worth a try. Thus far, it had a better chance than talking to disembodied voices.

"Anderson, take the helm." He spoke to the woman at the Tactical / Sensor Board in the rear of the bridge. Ann Anderson usually monitored readings as a backup to T'Pol and Reed; no one could watch everything, and under normal circumstances she 'explored' those areas of incoming information not immediately demanding, but which could be a source of vast 'untapped' potential.

For the time Mayweather would be gone, the woman's 'hand on the rudder' would assure immediate action in the event that the Drailens or the Manaxians had a surprise for them. In such a case, Archer could take the helm, but someone was needed at point in case of a need for rapid action. Anderson was not a 'pilot', but she knew enough about the controls that she could make the initial maneuvers before Archer could get to the helm.

The 'exchange' made, Travis headed to the turbolift.

xxx

He made his way to Decon, hoping that when he got there he would be able to work out just what to say to this woman who had been his fellow prisoner.

Though he had been a captive for a matter of hours, she had been held for so long she did not even know the time. Locked in a cold black cell with only the shaft of unchanging light from a single bulb outside the door to relieve the oppressive darkness, she had been subjected to brutal beatings, torture, rape, interrogation, starvation and dehydration for so long she had nearly given up hope of freedom. Pain and hunger had been her only companions for so long her emaciated body could endure no more.

When they had made their escape she had to be supported on legs nowhere near strong enough to carry her. She had been confined to her cell, hands bound behind her back, with room only to walk a few steps if she could get to her feet. She had long since passed the point of being able to walk any real distance. It was fortunate that their escape had been accomplished by transporter; she could not have made it otherwise.

Reaching the chamber, he met Dina Samuels in the corridor. The tall brunette was looking in through the transparent aluminum that formed the 'window' of the durasteel door. "Hi, Dina. How is she?" The woman shook her head.

"She's awake, but not talking." They both looked in at the woman who lay on one of the two bunks in the far inner room. They could only see part of her, from her hips upward, through the open inner door that separated the two rooms within. She wore a blue medical smock, her uniform a total loss. Her flesh, from what they could see of it, still had the slight gray pallor all the planetary inhabitants had. He still had not decided if it was natural or not; the result of living deep in miles of caves for nearly four full years.

There were two intravenous units beside her, one supplying nutrients the Doctor had determined were safe, the other attempting to restore moisture to her severely dehydrated body.

Travis activated the intercom.

"Corporal?" She moved enough to acknowledge she was awake, but no more. "Corporal Korvakai? It's Travis Mayweather. From the cell."

Slowly, straining to do so, she managed to sit up, and Travis tried his best to keep his thoughts from showing on his face. He had never truly seen her, save as a barely discernable figure in the dimness of the stone cell. When they were rescued and beamed back to Enterprise, she had reacted badly to the 'intense' light of the ship, protecting her face. He had been distracted by the rush of events and had not gotten a good look at her before she was taken away to Sick Bay.

Now he saw her clearly in the light for the first time, and the sight was staggering.

x

He had never really realized just what 'starvation' and 'dehydration' could truly do to an individual. She was emaciated, grayed skin drawn upon a face that showed bones as well as flesh, eyes deep, long hair faded of color; she looked, and was, barely able to sit up long. She was so thin that he could actually see her bones; she barely had any flesh left upon her body.

Appalled, Travis reached thoughtlessly for the button controlling the door, but Dina put her hand over it first, even as she deactivated the intercom with her other hand. "You can't go in, Travis. Her immune system's as depleted as the rest of her. The chamber's positive pressured to keep out everything from the ship. Phlox and I restrict our exposure as much as possible, but for now only Medical personnel get in; and not without decontamination."

"How long before she's able to come off those machines?"

"She'll need a minimum of three days. Phlox is working on a synthetic adjunct to her immune system, until she's strong enough to fight infection on her own."

He looked into the chamber; she had already laid back down again, concluding he was not going to talk to her. "How about her condition otherwise. How is she?"

Dina shook her head sadly. "Broken bones not set and healing haphazardly; I'm not even mentioning her right hand, in which almost every bone was broken and just left to 'heal' as it would. We have her on toraxadine, which at least controls the pain. Then there's old and recent contusions; lacerations, internal and external bruising; seven broken ribs which all have to be fixed and reset; dislocated clavicle; hairline fracture; weeks old, to her hip, poorly healed; evidence of at least nine cases of internal bleeding;" her composure faltered from even more than the outrageous litany, "and extensive signs of multiple rapes and sodomization during what was probably the entire course of her captivity."

x

Travis remembered the trauma Dina had suffered at the hands of the Capellan on what should have been a diplomatic encounter, and sympathized with them both. Her rape by the giant Saar had been brutal and left her with deep 'scars' worse than the physical.

"She's also infected with an STD I've never seen before, which her body is barely able to contend with in its present state. I'd say it happened early in her captivity, so it was _somewhat_ fought, or she'd be dead long ago."

"It's a wonder she's alive."

"Alive, yes; but unless she gives us permission to treat her further, Phlox can't help." They both remembered the first and unalterable aspect of Denobulan Medical Ethics: nothing could be done for a patient who refuses treatment.

"Could she die?"

Dina sighed, deeply frustrated. "At this point, I say 'yes'. If we can't boost her immune system, we can't even get in there long enough to help her." She looked regretfully into the rooms beyond the portal, and the still form within. "I don't have Denobulan ethics. I'd do it if I could, and listen to her complaints after I save her life, but I'm not even a Nurse; I'm a Biologist doing my shift in Sick Bay. But I'm a 'Medical Assistant' mostly by title, not a Doctor, and certainly not a Surgeon."

x

Travis reached for the intercom button again. "Corporal?" This time she only picked her head up far enough to see him. "Please. We can help you. Our Doctor can help you. He can heal you and you can…" She put her head down again, being very clear that she was ignoring him. "Corporal, if we can help you, and your people see that we want to help all of you in stopping this war, we can –."

"You cannot stop this war." She spoke toward the ceiling. "You might actually stop the fighting, but after you leave this planet you will not have stopped the war."

"Alah –." She looked up at him, and her face was a seared with naked fury.

"Do _not_ call me that – you have no _right_!"

He bit his lip, realizing his effort to establish a more personal means of communicating had backfired sharply. It was something he should caution the Captain about for if they ever did establish contact. "I'm sorry, Corporal." He told her as placatingly as possible, reverting to a more formal manner. "I'm just trying to convey that your people may be willing to talk if they see evidence of our good faith. Our healing you would -"

"put me back in the war. Would you heal me to kill me?"

"No, but - ."

She put her head back down. "Leave."

The word was as cold as a solitary asteroid, and as final as death.

x

Travis tried to think of what more he could say, what he could offer her to convince her, but knew it was hopeless. She'd closed communications as thoroughly as the Commandant had.

Frustrated, he switched off the intercom and turned to the woman at his side.

"The Captain's counting on her recovery being something we can use to get her people to let us mediate, to get them to talk peace with the Drailens."

Dina looked back to him, and he could see in her eyes pain she could not hide. "Then you'd better ask Mother McCabe to schedule a Novena, because she's not cooperating."


	3. Touched

Chapter Three

Touched

Tia Anlor drifted in that quasi-dream state where she knew her body was in Sick Bay, on the Enterprise, thousands of calyaan from her world; but her spirit, her Neetaa, was home with her people. She stood in a vast garden in Pastuu, looking up into the daytime sky, seeing in the violet heavens the tremendous red gas giant Sabaoth, which took up a huge arc of the sky, its wide-flung rings displaying every color of the visible spectrum in wonderful disregard for any regularity but its own.

It was vastly distant, over two and a quarter million valyris; but it and Aura circled one another in stable binary orbit about the far more distant white star Ealus. So much larger was the ringed gas giant that in the daytime its reflected light bathed Aura with a ruddy glow, enough to cast its own shadows on the brightest of days. The daytime sky was blue when Sabaoth was not fully visible above the horizon, otherwise it was a warm violet; and when seen illuminated by Ealus in the night sky the true blackness of space was unknown. The planets' elliptical orbits were such that sometimes the tremendous rings were seen from above, sometimes from below, sometimes almost invisible when seen edge on, always presenting different aspects as its colors changed in hue and intensity.

It had always seemed ironic to her that that world represented 'Lord Sabaoth the Unchanging'; since change was its most prominent feature.

Nissa was with her. Her younger sister would now be all of ten palyis old, but in her dream the girl was only nine, exactly as she remembered her on the day before her frantic escape from her captured world. They stood together looking up at the sky, Nissa counting the rings visible in Sabaoth's massive belt.

But as she stared up at the representative of the 'Consort God', a soft sound intruded, growing sharper and more insistent until Sabaoth, Pastuu, Nissa and all of her world vanished into the darkness.

x

Tia opened her eyes unwillingly, resentfully, not wanting to let go of her home and her joy; finding herself lying flat upon her back in an uncomfortable biobed, the white curtain surrounding her visible in the blackness softened by tiny lights left on in some of the equipment in the Sick Bay; hearing soft sounds of muffled protests growing in intensity. "Liz?" She turned to the white curtain on her left. "Edal ca-klir tuvi?" The sounds did not diminish. "Liz?" She tried to sit up, to see through the curtain, but a sharp pain in her chest halted her. She lay back down, annoyed at having been awakened and unable to get up. "_Liz_!"

The sharp call broke through to the woman beside her, whose own sharp exclamation was more frantic than angry. The woman awoke, gasping sharply.

"Are all right you?" Tia repeated, this time in English.

"I – I was having a nightmare." The woman's whisper came back through the curtain, still hushed with lingering fear and colored by regret. "Did I wake you?"

"Daai." She was unable to let go of her annoyance. She thought of her sister so often, but even memory could not pull up the vision as sharp and clear and realistic as this dream had.

"I'm sorry."

"I Pastuu in was. I Nissa with was." Her voice shuddered in restrained emotion, annoyance vying with grief.

"Oh." Liz was silent for a long moment. "I was in the shuttlepod, watching John being slammed around by the bulkheads." Tia shut her eyes, trying to forget her own memories of that horror. "You woke me just as my own straps snapped." Liz told her gratefully.

"You in Pastuu would happier be." Tia observed, wishing she actually were able to invite her friend.

"I _anywhere_ else would happier be." Elizabeth agreed emphatically, for a moment slipping into the other woman's syntax in an effort to reassert their bond of friendship, which she sensed was somewhat strained tonight.

For several long moments both young women were silent, each enclosed in the rectangular curtaining that separated them and shut out all but the most minute light in the nearly dark room. To Liz it felt like looking up out of her own grave, and found she had to reach out again: "Tia?"

"Daai?" She asked tiredly, having faded only to be brought back to Enterprise.

"May I ask you something?" For a moment there was no reply.

"Vuur." It took Liz's own sleep addled mind a moment to realize the younger woman had said 'ask'.

"When we were in the shuttle, when you were kneeling over John's body, praying, what was that gesture you made with your hands?" In the midst of a whispered prayer, the Auran had held her cupped hands over Abrams' head, and then slowly parted them as she moved her hands toward his feet, symbolically showering the body with something.

There was a very long pause, and Liz wondered if Tia had fallen asleep again. "Tia?"

"Tuvi ri pli vuur nyasi." Came the soft response in the darkness.

"What?" She inquired, having missed every other word.

"I my mind have changed. 'You me may ask not'." Even through the curtain, her annoyance stabbed like a sword. Had Tia known the woman was conscious, she would have been far more discreet back in the shuttle.

Liz felt the deep stab of the rebuke. "You never talk about your religion." She observed, trying not to let any feeling into her words.

"Nyas. Open I you all with am, but this wedsa, this '_private'_ is. Share much I do, but this _mine_ is!" Her voice broke, and there was a flood of unshed tears in that one word.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude."

"Tuvi seelna sin ti, ni kil monedou fik fael tuvi ceisa."

Liz did not ask what her friend's bitter words meant. She did not know many of the words, but from the tone she doubted they were complimentary. She did not know her friend had told her that she _always_ intended to intrude, but this time she had gone too far.

She knew Tia, saying it in Auran, was venting her feelings without wanting to hurt - openly.

She decided it was best to end the conversation for the night, before one of them, driven by spiritual, emotional and physical pain, said something that could not be disguised.

x

Liz lay for a long time in the darkness, unable to rest, fancying she could feel waves of anger through the curtains, trying to tell herself it was only her imagination. Gradually the other woman's breathing softened, and in time Liz decided Tia was asleep.

Liz lay still for what seemed an eternity, the dim pinpoints of light from equipment in the room showing as dim, diffuse spots of light through the white curtain. She could not doze off, nor could she get comfortable on the biobed. The pain medication that had let her rest had worn off, and she felt every injury, every bruise. No matter how she tried to keep it out of her thoughts, the pain would not let her rest.

She had just made up her mind to get up and get more of the drug to use on herself when the Sick Bay doors slid open. She heard someone come in, moving quietly. She was not expecting Phlox back, but did he perhaps have some kind of way to know that his patients were awake? She did not put anything past the Denobulan. Anyway, she was grateful. He would give her something to help her get back to sleep. "Who's there?" She called as softly as she could, not wanting to risk waking Tia again.

"It's me." An equally soft and utterly familiar voice returned, though not the one she'd expected, and she heard quiet footsteps approach. "Are you decent?"

She grinned. "I haven't been 'decent' in twenty years." Her grin widened when she saw the curtain at the foot of her bed move aside and Security Officer Jim Cein enter the small space, coming up on her left side. "What are you doing here?" She kept her voice so low she could barely hear herself.

"Security sweep for curfew. Bed check." He told her softly.

"'Curfew'." She mocked. "What time is it?"

"0216."

"Keep your voice down." She admonished with her own whisper. They listened very carefully, but after a few seconds all they heard was soft steady breathing.

"I think she's still asleep." Jim whispered, this time more quietly.

Liz had no doubt; Phlox had given them sedatives just before retiring for the night. But the dose he'd given Tia had been considerably stronger, intended to counter her faster metabolism. She wished he'd given her the same dose. "Just the same, she has the ears of a cat."

"While you have the body of one." He assured her playfully.

"Cut it out." She exclaimed quietly, even while unable to restrain a grin. He bent down to hug her, but it was only a half-hug, just his arms pressed to hers, his body briefly touching hers. He was all too aware of her pains. "Come on." She said when he released her. "I have to use the Head, so as long as you're here you can help me up."

"Great." He whispered with an 'anticipatory' smile, glancing about the curtained partition. "A little more privacy."

"Farg that." She told him, knowing he had been teasing. "I said _I_ have to use the Head. You get to help me there and then stay outside where you _belong_." She pushed the pale blanket off, all too aware that the deeper blue smock she wore barely covered inches past her hips, leaving a generous expanse of leg visible. But she did not begrudge him the view; looking was all he was going to be able to do until she felt a whole lot better – though thus far in their relationship he had done far more than just look. It was his 'fault' that she was presently 'toasting a bun in her oven'. All right, she had to admit, it was both their 'faults'.

He was, however, a gentleman now; steadying her with just his hands on her arm as she made her way out of the partition on stockinged feet and across the Sick Bay to the 'privy', closing the door behind herself before turning on the light.

The light was momentarily blinding to her dark-accustomed eyes, and as she squinted into the intense illumination, she caught a view of herself in the large mirror that dominated most of the right wall. As her eyes gradually adjusted, she liked the view less and less.

Her short brown hair was uncombed; no problem there; but she was appalled at the bruises that covered her face. She had known her face was swollen and hurt like hell whenever the pain medication Phlox prescribed wore off as it had done now, but she had not yet seen the horrible extent of the damage. Both eyes were still blackened; her lips were unevenly swollen; her cheeks and forehead were bandaged to cover the scrapes and cuts from the punches and falls; treatment for the bruises had not yet shown any effect. She barely recognized herself, and was mortified when she realized everyone who had seen her today, particularly Jim, saw her like this. Worse, she recognized that these were the kind of bruises that would turn a sickly green long before they healed, if they were allowed to do so naturally.

Below the short hem of the blue smock her bare legs were spotted with dark bruises from the kicks she had suffered during her beating, when she'd fallen and lay helpless on the stone floor surrounded by merciless soldiers who used their fists and feet and the butts of their rifles to compel Travis Mayweather to surrender secrets about the Manaxians which he did not have.

She did not want to see the worst of it, but perversely she could not help herself. She knew how badly she hurt, but had to see the damage that accompanied it.

Grasping the hem of her smock, steeling herself against the pain to do it before she could lose her nerve, she slowly lifted the material, groaning at the pain in her abused body. She pulled the material over her head, holding it in her right hand and looking at the mirror.

Trying to keep herself from crying out in her distress, she was reduced to a whimper. Wearing only a pair of white panties, she could not avoid seeing what the brutal soldiers had done to her.

Her body, from shoulders to hips, was heavily covered in dark bruises and red welts. There had to be more than three hundred bruises covering her; only tiny spots of her body were showing through with her normal coloring. She turned, horror mounting as she saw how thoroughly the marks completely covered her on all sides. Barely a few tiny areas were unmarked; her body was covered with black bruises and livid red marks. Even her crotch had not escaped their brutality; the searing pain of two devastating kicks had felt as though they would have killed her.

Her body, unprotected by drugs from the Denobulan's pharmacopeia, flared in 'realized' pain at the sight of her devastated flesh.

x

"Honey?" There was a soft tap on the door, and the word barely penetrated. "Are you okay?"

She tried to keep control of her voice, but it was filled with misery. "No."

"I'm coming in." The door was more than half open before he'd completed the 'warning' and she turned, wanting to protest, clutching the blue smock to her body, cringing in embarrassment. She realized it was not her body she was trying to hide with her hands, her arms and the almost useless smock; it was the bruises.

"What are you doing?" She exclaimed, trying to keep her voice to a whisper so she would not wake Tia outside the room and add to her embarrassment, even while utterly humiliated as Jim closed the door behind himself, looking at her as they stood in the small enclosure. She turned her back to him, the smock pressed to her bruised breasts, face cherry red. She knew there was no way to cover the smallest expanse of her brutalized body, but wished she could just die of the humiliation. "Get out! Please, honey – get out."

"No." He took a step closer; they were practically touching.

"I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want _anyone_ to see me like this."

"Beth, you're alive." He told her in quiet reassurance. "You're going to recover."

She could barely keep her misery from her voice. "They beat me. They were going to _rape_ me. They were going to kill our _baby_!"

He put his hands on her arms, and she tried to shrink into herself, shrink away from his touch. It took a long moment before he managed to turn her around. She could not fight his steady urging, and finally allowed him to turn her to him. "They didn't. You heard Phlox; Michael is fine."

The tiny embryo, only 5 weeks old, was barely an inch long and was well protected.

She kept her face down, unable to look up at him. He took hold of the smock pressed tightly to her bare chest and gently pulled. She tried to keep her grip on it, but against his gentle and steady pressure she finally gave way, letting it slip through her fingers. It was not as if he had not seen her so many times before, but not like _this_. Not bruised and swollen and …

He took the smock from her and set it on the counter, next to the sink. Liz kept her hands covering her breasts. She felt somewhat foolish; the marks she was trying to hide covered every inch of her from shoulders to hips and she was hiding those on her breasts; but she could not help herself.

She kept her face down. "Please don't look at me." She pled in a desperate whisper. She normally so enjoyed his eyes on her, his hands on her, his body pressed to hers; but not like this. She did not want him to see the bruises, the red welts, the damage inflicted so brutally upon her body. "Please don't look at me."

He put his hand under her chin, and again did not press her; just a gentle but steady pressure until she looked up at him, blinking away stinging tears.

"Beth, these will fade," he gently kissed one tear streaked cheek, then the other, "my love won't."

The tears she had been struggling so hard to restrain for so long, ever since her rescue, burst through her hard fought control, and she threw her arms around Jim, sobbing brokenly; all her terror and pain and humiliation tearing at her as she clung to him and he held her, not doing more than holding her and being the presence and love she needed as she cried and cried and cried.


	4. Tough Love

Chapter Four

Tough Love

"A Period of Observation?" Elizabeth Cutler exclaimed the next morning six minutes into her conversation with Phlox in his office, feeling her face redden. The small office was behind a steel hatch just to the left of the large main double doors, and the room extended into the area just to the right of anyone approaching Sick Bay. It was built for privacy, and she needed that. "_Observation_? What the _Hell_ do you mean by 'Observation'?"

Phlox, unperturbed by the woman's furious outburst, continued in his wonted relaxed / casual manner, though the subject under discussion was by no means casual. She would never know how much of this 'ease' was forced. Liz was a friend, and this was as painful to him as it was to her. "I'm saying that I am concerned by certain things I have seen. Your anger now, for instance."

"All right." She said, holding her hands up defensively, taking the warning that was explicit in his tone. "I'm sorry I blew my top. Hormones, you know."

"Yes," he agreed, granting her 'defense', "I'm well aware of the hormonal changes that occur in women during pregnancy." He reminded her of this, telling her as explicitly with his tone that he was not going to be put off by prevarication. "I'm somewhat more concerned by what happened to you on the planet's surface."

Liz tried not to withdraw self-consciously. Through the Doctor's ministrations this morning, the bruising and swelling to her face, and the rest of her body, was slightly diminished, and her internal injuries were healing; all due to techniques introduced during the Interspecies Medical Exchange, but she was far from whole.

Her body was still covered by bruises that would fade only with time; she could not open her mouth without a sharp pain to her right cheekbone just before her ear, so that she was having trouble equalizing the pressure in her ears. Her arms had been wrenched while she was tied up, at one point nearly dislocating from her left shoulder; and she had endured more punches; particularly to her lower abdomen and kicks to her crotch than she wanted to remember. To put it bluntly, every part of her hurt like hell.

Still, she had insisted upon returning to work, even unhealed; which had led to this private conference in the small office just off Sick Bay. She sat on the other side of Phlox's small desk in the cramped room.

She vividly recalled the last time she'd been in this room, seated in the chair Phlox now used, but pulled up close to this one as she'd tried to ease her friend and co-worker Dina Samuels through the trauma she'd suffered following her rape at the hands of the giant Capellan Saal. She was glad that monster was dead, but now she wished that she were back on her biobed.

"Though you are ambulatory, you are far from recovered, and as I said I am not clearing you to return to duty." He'd mentioned that 'Period of Observation', and it had such a terrible sound that she did not want to hear it again.

"I'm recovering." She persisted. To her it sounded like a hollow, childish protest.

"Physically, you will recover from most of your injuries within a few days. I can use more Regulan blood worms to help –."

"No thanks; three are quite enough worms swimming about in me."

He conceded the point. It was not his main one anyhow. "I'm talking about your psychological condition. You suffered a traumatic series of events during your captivity; not the least of which being the physical abuse. There was the crash, the death of Lt. Abrams; your witnessing Miss Anlor's 'murder'; and then the captivity itself, furing which you became concerned the embryo you carry … your son … had been harmed. I'm concerned that there may be lasting effects."

"Like what? I said I'm fine."

"You turned a rifle on Ensign Mayweather and almost put a bullet between his eyes. Then you tried to murder a man."

x

She fell back in her chair, a stricken expression on her face, feeling like he had just slapped her. "You sure don't pull any punches, do you?"

"Not with Medical personnel; not when they insist upon acting thoughtlessly."

She tried to meet his eyes, but her defiance diminished when she could not deny the truth of his 'accusation'. She lowered her eyes to her clasped hands upon her lap.

"You're right." She admitted shamefully. "I was out of my mind. I was scared, hurt, I thought they'd hurt my _baby_ – though I realize they could not." She hastened to interject, recalling not only her own medical training but the evidence of her own eyes from the tests performed upon her over the past day.

Her own girth had increased by less than half an inch. The embryo, little more than five weeks after conception, was still barely the size of a credit chit; the major organs had just begun their development. The eyes were visible, the arms and legs had begun to bud, and the four-chambered heart was beating, but her natural protection was in full effect. Little Michael had been safe from the abuse his mother had suffered.

"I was scared; scared out of my mind. And I was furious. I wanted _revenge_. I wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt me."

"And Ensign Mayweather?"

Liz felt a thousand kilo block of guilt fall upon her. "I'd never have hurt Travis." She said softly, staring at her clenched hands.

"Normally, no." He allowed. "But in the heat of passion you responded differently. Pointing a rifle at the head of a fellow officer concerns me greatly."

"Will you _stop_?" She implored. "I said I was sorry."

"I'm not trying to hurt you or make you feel guilty." He told her more gently. "I'm trying to make you understand why I'm not certifying you for active duty – yet."

x

She looked up imploringly. "What can I do?"

"You can start by realizing that this is not a punishment. No one is considering 'Court Martial' or anything of the kind." For a moment her mind flashed back to Hoshi Sato's fictional 'Court Martial', and that of the new Lieutenant Mary Sherman, head of Gamma Shift in Engineering, and the realization that hers would not end so happily. "We want to see that you get back to duty, but first we want to be certain you get the help you need."

She wanted to protest 'I'm not nuts.', but knew Phlox would have no tolerance for that. It was one thing for a layperson to jump to that conclusion, but her medical training demanded higher standards from her, particularly in the Denobulan's eyes. Still, it was hard.

"I realize," she began, "that I went a little nuts – but I'm over it now. I don't think I'm a danger to anyone."

"Neither do I." He assured her definitely.

"Then _why_ do you want to 'Observe' me?"

"Second, so that I can formally certify you fit for duty; primarily so that you can get whatever assistance you may require."

Liz stood up, frustrated, and stepped to her left the two paces to the door that was the full extent of free space in the small room. It sounded like, in order to prove she was not nuts; she had to submit to this. She did not _like_ 'Observation'. It made her self-conscious with the realization that everything she said and did would be scrutinized and she stood, she thought, a very real chance of failing.

She turned back to Phlox, resistance still high in her. "What if I refuse?"

"I can't certify you fit without it."

"How long?"

"Not long. Specifically, I cannot say."

"I don't _like_ being in a goldfish bowl."

"We'll try to make it as painless as possible."

"The fact you don't trust me is painful enough."

"Then let me put your mind at ease. We all trust you."

"You're afraid I'll get into a fight in the Mess Hall, pull a phase pistol on someone and blow his head off."

"Not at all. If I thought that, you would never leave Sick Bay."

x

There was iron in his tone. He was not going to tolerate ranting, and he was reminding her that it would only hurt her cause. She returned to the chair and sat down. "All right, a 'Period of Observation' – but I want to return to work." She could see he was considering it. "It relaxes me."

He thought it over more. There could be therapeutic benefit in it, though 'Life Sciences' was presently far from a relaxed environment. Of the six Scientists who made up the Department, one was dead; one disabled; one on, at best, limited duty; and there was a new Temporary Department Head who was not even part of the Division.

Phlox knew there would be contention among some of the 'survivors' for the Department Head position, not to mention the rank and increased pay that went with it. He had his own opinion of who should fill the post, but though it was very much his business as well as T'Pol's; LS falling within both of their supervisory capacities; this was not the time for such considerations.

No, Life Sciences was not a stress free area. "All right. Not right away, but I'll clear you for half shifts starting the day after tomorrow."

"Full shifts." She insisted.

He shook his head. "I said half."

"Six hours."

"Thirty minutes."

She gaped at him. "Where did you learn how to bargain?"

"In Sick Bay, there is no bargaining. My law is the only law." He favored her with an impressively wide smile no human could hope to match.

x

She couldn't help but try to, though hers was definitely forced. "All right. Half shifts, starting tomorrow."

"I said the day after."

"What am I supposed to do for two whole days without anything to do? Have sex with Jim?"

"Well, I can see where that would improve your spirits; and there is no medical reason why you cannot."

She sighed, falling back into her seat. "Nothing shocks you, does it?"

"You forget; I'm part of a ten person marriage with, at last count, thirty five children. Our mating practices have been known to be quite strenuous, even by Denobulan standards."

She tried to keep her grin from expanding, but as the image crystallized it was hard to do so. "All right then. Jim and I will start the orgy as soon as Alpha shift is over. Maybe I'll even invite Hoshi and Seamus, and Travis and Jennifer as well."

"Just be certain not to attract the attention of Ensign Cein's fellow Security Officers."

"Deal." She stood up, but he stopped her.

"In the meantime, I would like you to meet with Mother McCabe." She was about to protest, but did not voice it. "You two have developed something of a rapport, and she can help you." He said, reminding her of what she knew so very well. They had had many discussions since she'd discovered that she was pregnant, and she had known there would be many more. She had just not expected, or wanted, it to be so soon; and not about this.

Defeated, she nodded her acquiescence, turned and pushed the button to open the metal door; but then she looked back over her shoulder. "You're still a borgas frap, you know."

Phlox smiled that impressive smile again, unfazed. "I try."

xxx

Elizabeth Cutler hesitated for many long moments outside the Chaplain's office, starboard D79, staring at the non-denominational image of the white dove depicted upon the door. She knew the woman was inside. She had already spoken to her on the intercom from the corridor after leaving Sick Bay; that had been the easy part. Pressing the annunciation button to let the woman know she was there; that was hard.

It had been so different seeing her just over two short weeks ago, when she had gone to 'confess' her ambivalence regarding her unexpected pregnancy. Hard as it had been, she remembered it being easier. She supposed it was because she had gone there by her own choice, not because she had been 'ordered' to go.

Granted, Phlox had not 'ordered' her. Oh, no. He'd expressed in the most helpful terms how much better it would be if she could talk out her problems, but he had made it quite clear that she had no choice. Not if she wanted to get past this repulsive 'Period of Observation'.

Looking back and forth along the corridor, Liz realized she still, or again, had very few choices. She could enter, go away, or stand in the corridor looking like a fool.

Taking a deep breath, she stabbed the annunciation button hard enough that she felt her long nail bend painfully inward. She was rubbing the sore digit when the door slid open.

Mother Patricia McCabe OSJ was wearing her version of a uniform; black pants, royal blue back button shirt with inch high stiff white collar and the red, white and gold quadruple cross of her Order suspended before her breasts from a royal blue cloth collar. Her chestnut hair curled about her shoulders. "Good afternoon, child. Won't you come in?" She stepped aside, allowing Liz to enter. As the door closed, Liz was vastly unsure what to do. It was all so different from the last time they'd last spoken, in the woman's quarters all the way on the port side of the ship, or even when she had come here at her lowest period, having 'decided' to abort her son. That she had been back so many times since did not help now at all.

x

She looked at the familiar large cross affixed to the wall before her opposite the door, illuminated by a small spotlight installed in the overhead, a large representation of the cross the woman wore. The large red Roman cross covered a white Maltese cross so that only the eight wide white gold trimmed 'arms' protruded, while on the 'crosspiece' was set a small black Templar cross with a red inner banner upon the center of which was depicted a right slanted gold Roman cross. She fixed her eyes on the image, seeking 'guidance' or at least peace she could not find elsewhere. She looked down at the half meter square white cushion upon the floor, but felt no desire to use it.

At a loss, she brought herself to stiff Attention, addressing the woman while still facing the highlighted cross.

"Ensign Elizabeth Cutler reporting as ordered." She said crisply.

She was surprised when the taller Priest came around her ramrod straight body to stand before her, blocking her view of the image, and fixed her with a hard glare. Her brown eyes were sharper than Liz had ever seen them, and her expression was set in deep annoyance. "Number One," McCabe told her firmly, "no one ever comes to this office and reports her or himself 'as ordered', so don't _ever_ do that again."

x

"Yes, Ma'am." Truly unsure now of what to do, she held herself at Attention, eyes front.

"Number Two, I have no Starfleet rank, so don't call me 'Ma'am' or anything else of the kind. You know very well how you can address me. My mandate as Chaplain is as Spiritual Guide and, as far as possible, dispenser of Counsel and Advice. If you want any of that, and want to be here, I'm happy to help. If you _don't_ want to be here," her eyes shifted over Liz's shoulder, "that's the door."

"Yes, Ma'am." She watched as McCabe left her, watching only from the corner of her eyes as the woman stepped over to her desk.

"Number Three," Liz just turned her head to watch as she picked up a large, leather-bound book from her desk, "if you don't come off 'Attention', I'll _crack_ this across your noggin."

Liz grinned, relaxing. "Yes, M-." McCabe hefted the thick volume 'threateningly'.

"Besides, I thought I told you that you could call me 'Mom' in here." This time her words were far milder.

"Actually, Ma'am; that was in your quarters." Again McCabe raised the book. "Mom." She finished with a grin.

"You're really going to be a hard case."

Liz's grin fell apart. "I don't want to be." Her voice broke and she felt her distress about to break through in bitter tears. She did not want to cry, to embarrass herself, but it was so hard to keep from doing so, so she clamped down hard on her emotions with all her will, fighting to get her breathing under control, afraid that if she tried to speak she would not be able to.

"I know, child."

Liz turned to her, asking with growing apprehension, "How much _do_ you know?" She felt her control falter.

x

Patricia considered offering her a comforting falsehood and immediately rejected it. If they were going to have a working relationship, it had at all times to be an honest one.

Furthermore, she still had to relate the distressing tale of Helen Marin and her 'concerns', something she had not raised with Cutler because of her already overwhelming stresses, but which posed a threat the woman should be prepared for. From what she knew of the UESPA executive, this was a problem that was not going to go away; nor would the Earth-based woman's treatment of Cutler be gentle or particularly merciful.

But she would work her way into that later. Right now, it was time to focus on the immediate. Cutler had enough problems already, and she hated to have to add to them.

"I've read what I'm told are all the reports on your captivity and torture;" she told her, "the death of your friend and your belief that your other friend was murdered right in front of you by the Drailen soldiers; your concerns about your baby, which Dr. Phlox assures me was in no physical danger."

Liz noticed McCabe did not refer to John, Tia or Michael by name, emphasizing the personal relationship instead.

"I've spoken to Ensign Mayweather, learned a lot of the background of your captivity that was not in the report, including the details on how you exacted revenge on your assailant and also turned the rifle on Mr. Mayweather." Liz closed her eyes, feeling the stab of guilt again pierce her heart.

"I've also been privy to Dr. Phlox's medical reports, and his evaluation of your physical and mental condition, as well as his strong advice that you see me."

She sighed heavily, feeling all the life go out of her with the dropping of her shoulders. When she could look at the woman again, she felt drained and beaten. "You seem to know it all. You could brief _me_."

"Child, I'm not here to 'brief' anyone or to discuss facts. I'm here because, deep down, you _want_ an opportunity to talk; if not now, then soon. You've had a truly traumatic experience, one I would not wish upon the most deserving sinner. I want to try to help you to the best of my ability, but to do so I have to know everything. Besides, did you think it would be otherwise?" Liz shook her head. "So, would you like to stay and talk?"

Liz sat down in a chair, though it was very much a matter of forcing herself to do so. "I'd really rather _cry_." She admitted, not looking at the other woman, feeling her desperate control start to slip, her voice breaking despite her careful restraint. She clamped down on her feelings even harder.

"I think you should cry." Liz shook her head, unable to give vent to the pent up emotions she was keeping locked in so tightly. "Crying is very cleansing and therapeutic."

Again the refusal. She had had enough of that this morning, sobbing like a baby in the arms of Jim Cein; hours before her meeting with Phlox, hours before her life had really started to unravel.

"You'd be amazed how often I cry." Patricia assured her.

x

This time surprise overwhelmed restraint and Liz looked up. "You do?"

"How else do you think I could deal with this ship? And that goes _double_ for Malcolm Reed." Liz could not help but laugh; and laughter felt far better than tears.

"This scared the _fuck _out of me." She confessed, then started, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I – ah…"

"Hey, I grew up in a Naval port town. You don't _know_ the words I learned by the time I was five."

This time, when she could continue, Liz was amazed at how much better she felt. Not relaxed, but well enough to speak, at least without breaking down. "I thought it was bad enough when the Shuttlepod … when _we_ were shot down, but that rolling crash was horrible. We kept turning over and over, bouncing so hard that the hull broke and we kept slamming about in our seats. I _saw_ John fly out of his seat right in front of me when his harness snapped and I couldn't do a _thing_. I couldn't reach him. I _tried_! I tried so hard but I couldn't _save_ him. And then when we went over that cliff I was _sure_ we were all dead."


	5. Destasteful

Chapter Five

Distasteful

Corporal Alah Korvakai, once of the 703rd Battalion, stared up at the ceiling of the inner of two rooms her 'rescuers' had 'confined' her to. The lighting in the room was a sharp shade of blue, which she had been told indicated a sterile field was in operation, killing any 'known' disease-bearing microbes. She hoped that microbes were the only things it killed.

Beside her bunk, on her left side, two wheeled machines pumped slow doses of clear fluids from hanging bags into her arm. The woman who had come to the window in the metal door to the outer room had promised her food; as soon as they could figure out what they could feed her. But it meant nothing to her; she just wanted to go home.

They had told her they would send her home as soon as they could, as soon as they built up her strength. They wanted to heal her, and she wanted to be healed, but she knew Colonel Guerah would debrief her on everything she knew about her captors and then send her back to her unit. She'd be patrolling the upper ground within a week, and maybe this time she'd be killed.

Guerah could learn all he wanted to, but she was never going to hold a gun again. She'd been a farmer, back in the wondrous days when farms had existed. She did not want to imagine what her land looked like now. She'd seen Tuvar colony – Tuvaria it had been renamed – over a year ago, during a wide flung patrol, and had sobbed at the sight. Now for four years she'd been a soldier, killing the people she'd once labored to feed. She now knew only her resolve; that if she could not be a farmer again, she might as well be nothing.

Her stomach clenched painfully, groaning loudly at her. Where was the food that they'd promised? The man who'd shared her cell so briefly had come; but though he had spoken to her, she had not wanted to hear anything he'd said. But no one had come since. Had she, after all her suffering, simply traded a dark cold stone cell for two bright metal ones?

There was a sound from the outer room. She picked her head up to see the door to her 'cell' open and a figure clad in a copper colored suit and helmet enter. She could just see well enough into the helmet to discern the face of the woman who had helped her earlier. 'Dina Samuels' she had called herself. After carefully sealing the door, she turned and came into the inner room, carrying a covered tray.

"I'm sorry about the suit." She apologized, her voice muffled by the helmet. "Until the Doctor can stabilize your immunity to disease, it's best that we avoid contact with each other." She held the tray forward. "We beamed up some plants from your world," she lifted the lid from the plate, "and Chef prepared them as best he could, using some Earth recipes. I hope you like them."

Slowly Alah sat up. Even before she made it, she caught the scent of the hot vegetables, and a thrill went through her as she recognized everything on the plate. The pieces were cut small, so she would not have to use two hands to eat.

She saw that the tonged utensil beside the plate had a large handle, and was grateful for the consideration. Useless as her right hand was; the mangled fingers incapable of grasping anything, her left was still unable to hold anything small, and the large handle would help her considerably.

Cramping hunger made her pick up the fork beside the plate with her working left hand and stab a red corsagh, bringing it to her watering mouth. She bit into it, feeling a sharp tang overwhelming its sweetness. She chewed carefully, her stomach waiting impatiently for the first solid food she'd had in over a week. She swallowed, stabbing a pink faltar bulb, biting it cautiously.

She almost wept at the taste, her first solid food in longer than she could remember. She was grateful to the woman for her consideration.

She didn't care that the corsagh had been made wrong and tasted _horrible_; that the faltar bulb tasted worse; that she had to swallow it before she gagged. She tried a green mikli, which really should be a deeper green and had to drink quickly from the cup of water to get it down before she choked on the horrendous vile abomination. She had to request more water after tentatively trying a long, lighter green savon. It was worse than the mikli; she had to force it down against her own defensively constricting throat.

As a farmer she'd raised these crops, and that made it doubly painful to taste how they could be so ignorantly prepared – or destroyed.

But she'd sit here and eat everything on the plate, no matter how foul it tasted, no matter that she wanted to cry for how the plants, her first food in longer than she could remember, had been ruined, if it would fill her and stop the pain in her empty stomach. And she would thank the woman for her efforts.

Then later, when she felt better, she'd teach these aliens how to cook.

xxx

Trip Tucker pushed the access button, opening the double doors to Sick Bay, stepping in and turning immediately to his left, going over to the biobed where Tia Anlor lay. She was asleep. He looked down at her, just watching her quietly, 'debating' about disturbing her when he saw Phlox come out of his office to the left of the double doors. "Hello, Commander." The Denobulan greeted him brightly.

Trip was about to say the man should keep his voice lower, but Phlox read his expression. "Don't worry, I was just about to wake her to take some tests; but I can let you have a few moments privacy first." Phlox continued into the room.

"How is she?"

"Recovering, but as stubborn as ever. I have to keep her sedated because she'd try to walk out if I didn't."

Trip sympathized with the physician. Tia had been brought up in an environment where one did not admit to physical disability. To be unable to function in the presence of the Silurian 'masters' who enslaved the entire population of Aura was to risk being deemed 'useless'. One does not _risk_ being deemed 'useless'.

He reached out, gently shaking her by her shoulder. She opened her eyes. "Hi, honey."

She smiled up at him. "Galyas." She breathed in almost musical tones.

"How are you feeling?" He watched her consider the question. Her eyes were definitely bleary, more likely the result of the sedative. He looked at the instrument above her head. A tube ran from her left arm, feeding golden blood into it, and then another tube ran down into her right arm, returning the blood to her. She still did not answer.

Trip looked over to Phlox. "What's up with this thing?"

"We've put all the blood that we'd accumulated over the past few months back into her." The Denobulan told him. That he knew well. Since she was the only Auran aboard, Phlox had been 'stockpiling' a supply of her blood in the event that it was needed later for any medical treatment. "It had been a pretty close thing. Now this device assists in cleaning it; takes some of the strain off her liver."

"What's wrong with her liver?" He asked, concerned. She'd been shot in her chest; there should be nothing wrong with any other part of her body. Suddenly he was very worried.

"Meercale ka zinlaq cu." She told him, her tones more lyrical for their uncertainty. She was definitely feeling the effects of the sedative.

"What?" He asked her.

"She said it was damaged by the bullet." Phlox explained helpfully; then smiled. "Or, in her case, 'damaged the bullet by'."

"Hali mutinuv vas tuqui."

"Huh?"

"'Left lobe it hit'."

"But he shot her …" Trip raised his hand above her chest, between her breasts. He knew her six chambered heart was about five inches lower, but -.

Phlox restrained himself from shaking his head sadly, and tried to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself. "You don't really know a lot about Auran physiology, do you, Commander?"

"Zi mrunion vascanie sul tyn-lati nuca sei," she nearly sang in her dreamlike state, "sinali mocza nuca mrunion sulyas."

Trip had to appeal to Phlox, who obviously understood her better. He would have wished the UT were activated, but somehow he was not sure he did. He did not know that the UT was, in fact, active; but only in translating Auran and Denobulan.

Phlox could barely restrain a somewhat teasing smile. "She says 'he my outside more interested in is, except when in my –."

"Never mind!" Trip held up his hands, silencing the physician. "That word I know."

"Yes, I rather thought you would." He replied blandly. When Trip again looked down at Tia, rather than facing the other man, he found Tia was once again asleep. She had, in fact, barely been awake.

"Commander, if I may say so, while I do not like to pry into the personal affairs of my patients, in the almost full year that she has been aboard she has devoted much of her time and effort to the study of English. I think, considering the nature of your … relationship … that it would behoove you, if only for the opportunity for privacy it would afford, to learn more than a smattering of her language."

Trip was about to point out that the Denobulan should follow his first reaction and _not_ meddle, but he bit it back. "You're right." He looked down at her. "I've been letting her do that work, and putting too much of faith in the UT. I should have put as much work in as she did."

"I suspect she would consider it to be a very noteworthy gesture."

xxx

"Captain," T'Pol, on the bridge, attracted her commander's attention, "the jamming shield over one of the colony caverns has just gone off."

"Which one?" Archer was out of his seat in a moment, stepping up onto the platform where he could see T'Pol's board for himself.

"Coordinates 482 by 247. This one is the furthest from the Drailen colony you've been speaking to."

"Let's see if we have better luck with them." He looked across to Hoshi, but he did not tell her the obvious, to try to detect any signals and to synchronize with them. A few seconds later, a circuit on her communications board beeped.

"Captain, we're being hailed." He raised his eyebrows. "It's Admiral Forrest."

For an instant his surprise at being hailed from the planet below them was compounded by the thought 'What's Forrest doing down there?' before he realized that his focused expectations had misled him and it really _was_ time for bed. He'd been on the bridge for far too long already.

"I'll take it in my Ready Room." He said, leaving T'Pol's station, relieved he'd bitten back the asinine inquiry before it had escaped his lips. "Let me know if you reach anyone willing to talk."

xx

Sitting down at his desk, Archer touched the button on his monitor which would admit the incoming signal from Hoshi's board. On the screen appeared the image of his old friend Maxwell Forrest. He was in his own office, into which the sun streamed brightly across his desk. His uniform looked newly pressed, and he looked fresh where Archer suspected that the bags under his own eyes had sprouted carry-ons. "Good morning, Jon."

"Good night, Admiral."

Forrest looked closely at him. "When was the last time you slept?"

"What day is today?"

"I won't go into that."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Forrest's manner grew somber. "Dubious pleasure, I'm afraid. I've just received your report; my condolences on the death of John Abrams. He was a good man." Forrest had known the biological researcher for quite some time before assigning him to Enterprise.

"Yes, he was. His body has been sent toward an uninhabited region of Kitaris IV." Unsaid was the fact that, not equipped for a soft landing, the torpedo casing would have burned up in friction with the planet's atmosphere. There would be no chance of anything worse happening to the body of the man upon the planet's surface; he was safe from the ravages of the war, no matter where it was.

"I understand you want to try to negotiate a cease fire between the two conflicting parties on this planet." He did not use the word 'peace'. Peace, they both knew, would be the work of a long period of talks. The best the Enterprise could hope for was for the fighting to stop – at least long enough for the real talks between the leaders of the two sides to begin.

"I want to try. I've had no success in dealing with the Drailens. I'm hoping the Manaxians will be more willing to talk."

"I agree with your theory; that if the survivor you rescued can get them to listen, you might get somewhere. What is her condition?"

"Phlox says he can help her." He left it at that. No need to tell the man now that the Denobulan's latest report had used the words 'serious' and 'grave', and that his famous optimism was severely lacking.

"Well, good."

x

Then Forrest's face grew somber. "There's another matter I need to discuss with you. I've recently had a visit from an official of the U.E.S.P.A. I believe you know her, Helen Marin."

It was not a welcome name. "I know her." He said, keeping a strictly neutral tone. It had been nearly a year since he'd heard about the woman – and he would be happy to go another decade without experiencing the 'dubious pleasure' again.

"I dare say it will be hard to forget her. I have certainly tried; but over the past year she's come to carry a lot of weight in the Agency, so I could not refuse to see her. She's greatly concerned about the presence of an unwed mother aboard your ship." His voice adopted a mock/serious tone. "'Starfleet', actually she used U.E.S.P.A., 'ships are no place to raise a family; an unplanned pregnancy is an outrageous breach of regulations; a woman on Earth's first and most celebrated Starship having a baby out of wedlock sends a bad signal to the people of Earth, particularly the young people; the scandal is going to cost us prestige and funding; the lobbyists and politicians are up in arms; its an affront to the serious Scientific Community; she should be reassigned immediately or the pregnancy terminated' – need I go on?"

Archer put his head back, closed his eyes and counted backward from ten in Andorian. That he had to think to remember some of the numbers helped on time. When he opened his eyes again, Forrest was still there. "What did you tell her?"

"Not what I wanted to." His meaning was all too clear. "The good news is that I can put her off for a while – there are quite a few members of the Executive Board who actually do think, so normally I wouldn't be concerned." Now his manner turned grimmer. "The bad news is that I just received word from Ambassador Soval; he wants a meeting today, and we both know what he's going to say."

Archer did indeed. Where the U.E.S.P.A. exercised an 'oversight' or guiding position in Earth's space exploration, they were a civilian organization and as such had no real _power_ over Starfleet. The UESPA/Starfleet connection was one of 'cooperative endeavor', whereas the Vulcans held real influence with members of Earth's Government, and they were not hesitant about using it. While their status on Earth is a diplomatic one, and the days were gone when they could dictate terms to the Government, they still wield considerable influence, all out of proportion to that of any other race.

x

None of this sounded anything but grim. "What are we looking at; worst case?"

"I won't lie to you, Jon; Marin had some valid points. A Starship _is_ no place for a pregnant officer. But even if I let you get around that, unless you've made some major modifications to the structure of your ship that I'm not aware of, it is no place for a baby. Public and political outcry over this issue could get pretty hot, depending upon just how much fuel she intends to throw on the fire. A year ago Marin was a junior member, but she's managed to get onto the Executive Board – don't ask me how; I didn't vote for her – and now she can wield a pretty big club. Last time, with Ambassador Anlor, we managed to wrangle a pretty effective solution she didn't see coming. This time I don't see us getting so lucky."

"Bottom line?"

"Elizabeth Cutler's looking at reassignment from Enterprise to a Research Facility, or back to Earth. Certain Ensign Cein will face an investigation. Impregnating a crewmember outside wedlock is something they intend to take very seriously. It will certainly have an adverse effect upon his career, despite the fact that he had proposed not long after discovering the pregnancy."

"I see. If they fail against Ensign Cutler, they'll focus on Ensign Cein."

"He certainly cannot avoid consequences. How severe they will be will probably be determined by the strength of the force this woman raises against Cutler. To say his career in Starfleet is jeopardized as a result of this … indiscretion … is an understatement. Regardless of the fact that Ensign Cutler's contraceptive shot had worn off and not been renewed due to 'neglect', Marin appears determined that the axe is going to fall on someone."

Archer bit back his response. It certainly would do no good to vent his spleen on his friend; the man was no more pleased by the situation than he was.

"It's the 'unwed' part that's going to be the headache if this goes public – which I'm sure it will; we simply can't keep a lid on any of it. I'll let you know how much heat we can expect from the Vulcans, but you already know. Right now the focus is on Cutler, but that could change."

Archer had been considering his options even as he listened to his friend's forecast of doom. "Ensign Cein has an exemplary record, and Enterprise is not in a position to lose any more of our crew."

"Fortunately, I have considerable leeway on personnel assignments. I'll try to keep them together." His smile was grim at best.

x

"As part of Life Sciences, Ensign Cutler's a valuable member of my Science division, as well as to Medical. Since the divisions overlap, Phlox uses them as Medical Assistants. I can have T'Pol and Phlox put in a good word to the Vulcans. Maybe we can head off any action before things get out of hand."

"Sounds like a plan. Keep me posted. Good luck, Jon."

A moment later the image was replaced by the black screen containing the Starfleet insignia. Archer sat for several moments staring at it; then touched the intercom button. "Archer to Ensign Cutler."

It only took a second for the computer to route the call to the appropriate intercom. "Cutler here."

"Would you please come to my Ready Room?"

"Be right there."

Her voice held a distinct note of cheerfulness. He wondered how much there would be in the woman when he finished.


	6. Connections

Chapter Six

Connections

Liz left the Chaplain's office, feeling considerably better than when she had gone in, and was very pleased to see a familiar figure cross the intersection of two corridors twenty meters before her. "Jim!"

Security Guard Jim Cein halted, turning to join her. When they came together he, closely aware of their surroundings and any possible witnesses, took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly.

She did not want to resist, trusting in his attention and hearing. He would pull back in time if anyone came close enough to see. For now; she just wanted to lose herself in his arms, in his kiss, in him.

She knew her Captain was waiting, but it could be just a few more seconds. He wouldn't begrudge her a few seconds – if he even knew.

For one glorious, wondrous moment, nothing hurt.

xx

Alah Korvakai ate the last corsagh on the plate, having to force it down, trying to avoid gagging at the horrible taste while doing her best to keep her feelings – or her efforts – from showing in her expression. "How was it?" The woman asked solicitously when she returned the large fork to the tray. It was interesting to the emaciated woman how the alien's translation device let her hear the space suited woman speaking in fluent Bethesnan, though her lips did not move properly with the words. She wondered if she would ever get used to it.

"Delicious." Korvakai lied, placing her hand on her stomach for emphasis. Actually, she was trying to calm the nausea that made her want to vomit back the entire vile concoction. "I was so hungry," she told the space suited woman emphatically, "that I …"

She was so hungry she could cry over how badly her first meal in weeks had been destroyed.

"I'm glad you liked it. We weren't sure how it should be prepared."

"I could - ." She gasped, holding her stomach more urgently. "I could _tell_."

"What's wrong?" Dina asked, suddenly aware the sham had fallen away.

Alah started tearing at the coverings on the cot, her efforts to be polite abandoned. She had been fighting her own body, and knew now it was a battle she was going to lose – _now_. "Help me." She begged. "Please help me."

Dina, catching her urgency, helped her off the bed, the two intravenous feeding devices on rolling stands beside the bed getting in the way as the woman fought her way off the cot and across three wide steps to the privy as Dina rapidly kept the two stands up with her, careful not to allow the tubes to be pulled from the woman's arms, hindered in her own motion by the EV suit she had to wear.

Korvakai fell through the still opening door to her knees and barely made it far enough before her protesting stomach won the battle and she knelt clinging to the bowl, retching loudly, the entire meal violently ejected.

It seemed to take as long to reject the food as it had taken to force it down, and in the end Alah collapsed weakly, trembling and sweating profusely, unable to help herself as Dina helped her back away, cleaning her face with a wet cloth even as she pressed the button which disposed of the detritus.

x

"I'm so sorry." Dina apologized, mortified by her mistake, her voice muffled by the space suit helmet. "We really thought you would be able to hold down solid food. I'm sorry."

"Food, yes." Korvakai exclaimed, gasping. "That garbage wasn't _food_." Looking up, she caught and misinterpreted Dina's expression. "I'm sorry. I mean, your 'Chef' must be good at his job, but he doesn't know what food should taste like." She met the woman's eyes and regretted her outburst. "Our food, I mean."

"I'm sorry. Was none of it…?"

Alah shook her head. She had not wanted to speak so openly, but in the end had been unable to help herself, and now it was out. "None." She admitted, feeling as embarrassed as the other woman looked. "I tried to hold it down, but…"

"You could have told me. I'd have gotten something else, made right."

"I was trying to be polite. I didn't want to hurt your feelings by telling you how _bad_ it was. You did so much, more than any alien I could ever imagine."

"That's how we humans are." Dina told her, sensing an opportunity to get through to her even in the face of this embarrassing faux pas. "We've been trying to help heal you."

Korvakai looked up into the clear visor. The blue sterile field was on in here as well ('naturally', Korvakai thought); the light reflecting in the visor. "And I've been telling you 'no', refusing because I do not want to fight any longer."

"But if Captain Archer can help stop your war, you won't have to."

"And you think the way to stop it is by showing my people you're willing to heal me."

"Yes."

x

She sighed, feeling a weight start to lift from her. "I didn't trust you. I'm still not sure I trust you. I've been hurt so badly, for so long. Beaten, tortured, raped until it hurt too much to move. Absolutely _everyone_ had leave to rape me, to hurt me. I never knew when someone would come into my cell, or what they would do to me. Day or night, singly or in groups. Do you _know_ what it's like to be hurt like that?" She asked challengingly. How could this woman, safe as she was aboard a clean, sterile spaceship, have any idea what she had suffered?

"Oh yeah!" Dina replied emphatically. Catching Alah's look, she explained. "A couple of months ago, a diplomatic mission went totally wrong when one of the 'diplomats' beat and _raped_ me. They were Capellans, warriors over 7 feet tall. His name was Saal, a huge, hulking monster. I'd tried to fight him, but he was nearly two feet bigger than I am. He nearly killed me – in here." She emphasized, patting her chest. "It took a lot of help from my friends. I healed; that is, Phlox healed me - but I'm still not 'recovered'." She paused, trying to push the memory, the experience that still threatened to take her back, away from her.

"It's been weeks since he raped me, but I'm not a _bit_ 'recovered'. I'm still seeing Phlox, and our Chaplain; who's a licensed Psychiatrist; I see her three times a week, and more 'unprofessionally'. I think I'll be doing it for a long time to come."

"What is a 'Chaplain'?"

"A Chaplain, well, I suppose you'd call her a … well, she's here to … I guess 'help with our religion' would be the best way to describe it." She couldn't remember when she'd been so stuck for a simple explanation.

"You mean a 'Soul Guide'?"

"I guess so. Yes, a 'soul guide'." Dina hoped she was right.

Korvakai was glad to see they had such people, that they had such regard for the Soul. It made her understand these humans better. "What about this 'Saal'? Did your crew punish him?"

"_I_ punished him." Dina declared firmly, driving home the point of her revelation.

"What did you do?"

Dina's smile was grim, but carried a memory of satisfaction. "I challenged him to single combat, got in quite a few good shots – and then he beat the _crap_ out of me." Alah was surprised at the satisfaction in her manner that accompanied this revelation. "But I won."

"You _won_?" The space suited woman clearly had a strange definition of 'winning'.

"My friends had to carry me out of the Shuttle Bay, but I beat him fair and square. I wouldn't stop the fight until I made him surrender. I made him _sorry_ for having raped me – even though it took two cracked ribs, two loosened teeth, black eyes and several dozen bruises to do it. I looked a lot like you do when he was done beating the tar out of me, but it's the end that matters. I wouldn't give up, even when Captain Archer tried to stop the fight. I made him _surrender_ to me, and in the process humiliated him before his leader. He was this huge warrior, two feet taller than me, and I won."

"You are lucky."

"It wasn't luck – I was scared to _death_. My friends had to actually push me to do it; but I knew that if I did not do it _then_, I would never get the chance, and I would carry that fear with me every minute of my life."

Alah fixed her with an intent look. "Are you still afraid."

"Down to my boots. Some nights – most nights – I wake up screaming like a child, and cannot get back to sleep again. I jump if anybody comes up to me without my seeing them; my stomach is in knots much of the time and the Doctor had to put me on intravenous supplements because I kept throwing up everything I ate; and I have splitting headaches that just make me want to die. My … close friend's touch still makes me sick to my stomach; I'm really trying to fight _that,_ but it's hard.

"But I did it. It was the hardest thing I ever did, standing up to that bastard and fighting him for my life, but I did."

"What happened to him?"

x

Dina grew even grimmer. "The terms were 'no weapons'; but after he lost, he tried to kill me. He threw a round throwing weapon, called a kligat, at me while my back was turned; while I was hanging in the arms of my friends. One of them actually _caught_ it in mid-flight and threw his weapon right back through his own throat."

"So he's dead?"

"Yes." Dina, despite knowing she should strive for better things, could not fully conceal the satisfaction from her new companion.

"I wish I could kill the kislaqas who hurt _me_." Korvakai said feelingly, longingly. "These Drailen _korkzh_ raped me almost every day for weeks, and kept me tied the entire time to break me further, to make me feel helpless; to emphasize the fact that I _was_ helpless. They wanted to break my spirit. I fought to survive, but in the end they would not _let_ me die. They kept me alive so they could use me as an example, could torture and beat me to get some future prisoner to give up what secrets he might have."

"_Bastards_." Dina did not try to hide the depth of her outrage. "Was that the only reason they did it?"

Korvakai shook her head regretfully, unable to escape the brutal truth. "I'm a Corporal. I have no secrets. But they 'determined' it's harder to watch someone else suffer than to endure it ones self. So they beat and tortured _me_ to break the others in my squad. When they wouldn't break, they died one by one, but I was a 'lesson' for each of them many times over." The taste of sustained and nurtured hatred was bitter. She could not imagine the touch of another person ever again, not imagine trusting anyone ever again, or ever experiencing sex as a _pleasure_ with anyone again.

She was sure she could not. "I'd love to be able to get _revenge_."

Dina leaned in close, her voice taking on a compelling quality as she offered; "I can help you get real revenge; the kind that goes beyond killing, beyond anything."

"How?" She asked enthusiastically.

"These people want the war to continue. The Drailans want the war so badly their leader won't even talk to Captain Archer. But you can do something that will ruin everything for the Drailens in this war."

"What?" She asked enthusiastically.

"Take it _away_ from them."

Alah stared at her intently for a long moment, seeking deception, seeking subterfuge, seeking any kind of hidden agenda. Then she reached out, seeking help to get off the cold deck. "Yes."

xxx

Science Officer T'Pol departed the Captain's Ready Room in time to exchange a few brief words with her subordinate from Life Sciences, inquiring about her health and condition, fitness to fulfill her request to return to duty and so forth before releasing Ensign Cutler for her appointment with the Captain. In accord with her Commander's wishes, she told the woman nothing about her own assignment with the Vulcan High Command. That matter, regardless of her own opinion on the subject, was the Captain's decision.

Stepping through the outer door and down the three steps, Elizabeth Cutler pressed the annunciation button next to the inner door.

"Come."

Elizabeth hid a grin. Never would she reveal to her Commanding Officer just what an offer that always sounded like.

x

When the woman stepped into his private sanctum, Jonathan Archer carefully schooled his expression, both over the concern that had led to his calling her and over her appearance.

The abuse she had suffered at the hands of the soldiers who had beaten her so severely was still clearly visible on her face; and he knew from consultation with Phlox that what was visible accounted for only a small fraction of the total.

Her face was bandaged and bruised, both eyes still blackened. The swelling had been taken down visibly, and internal treatment was eating away at the bruises that covered her body, but it was a slow process considering the vast extent of the damage to be 'healed', but even so the Regulan blood worms would 'erase' most of the marks faster than normal unaided healing would. There was a measurable difference, but not much. She would have the bruises for a little more than a week rather than two, and they would not pass to the 'sickly green phase, but that was probably the extent of the benefit. It was still something of a shock, however, to see the damage inflicted upon the lovely woman.

Seeing her condition, however, only strengthened his resolve. "Have a seat, Ensign." He noticed she sank into the fitted, cushioned chair very gingerly. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, sir."

He gave her a small, knowing smile. The polite lie was as transparent as crystal, accompanied as it was by a pained stress. "Fine?"

She hesitated. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"In this room, everyone has permission to speak freely. I want it no other way."

"Well then, sir, I hurt like fraggin' hell. Not only did those bas – those men – beat the crap out of me, but my day today has been going downhill so fast I just want to …" She halted herself. 'Permission to speak freely' rarely ran to what she actually wanted to say. "Let's just say that, outside and in, I don't feel so great."

"Yet I understand you've declined a rest leave."

She was not surprised he knew all about her conversation with Phlox this morning. He probably knew ahead of time that it was going to happen, and received a report immediately afterward. She had only the confidence that her conversation with Patricia McCabe would be private. The woman does not break confidences.

"Sir, I've never been one for sitting still. We're short handed in Life Sciences now that John i –." Her voice broke in mid-word, and she struggled hard to restrain a tidal wave of powerful emotion that threatened to undo her. For several seconds she could not breathe; had to fight to control herself. It was many seconds more before she could force herself to say, in a tightly controlled voice; "is dead."

She took a deep breath, held it, and tried as best she could to speak calmly; all the time wanting to scream out her anger, her grief. "With John gone," she said quickly, then was able to proceed more normally, "and Tia laid up; I can't in good conscience just sit about for two days and do nothing. If I just sit in my quarters I'll only mope about everything that's fragging up my life instead of doing something." But then she remembered one thing she thought she could do little about.

"Then on top of everything else, I've just been told by Mother McCabe that there's a woman at U.E.S.P.A. that's determined to make things _worse_ for me."

Archer was surprised. He'd only heard from Forrest less than a quarter hour ago. Apparently the Priest had her own sources of information. It would do him well to touch bases with McCabe; perhaps as soon as he finished this conversation, about just how she had a source outside the chain of command that he did not know about. Either that; or why she had been in contact with Earth about a member of his crew and had not reported it. He'd speak to her right away – hopefully before Sato made contact with someone on the surface who was willing to talk.

Then he was going to see what chance he had of getting to bed.

Probably very little; he admitted to himself. Having spent the entire night on the bridge, this was becoming a pretty lousy morning.

x

"I think we're talking about the same person. Helen Marin?"

Cutler nodded. "Did she call you too?"

"No. Admiral Forrest did. She spoke to you?"

"She spoke to Mother McCabe, while I was being held on the planet." Briefly she related the salient points of the woman's conversation as she'd received them from McCabe.

"So, what do you think?"

Cutler was glad she had 'permission'. "I think that bitch should mind her own business – sir."

"Frankly, Ms. Cutler, I agree." He wished for the unlikely possibility of telling her that himself. "Unfortunately, we don't have that luxury."

Liz drew a deep and not at all calming breath and wondered how much worse her day could become. "Sir, do we have any 'luxury'?"

Archer had been wondering about that ever since Forrest's call. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't want to lose you. You're a very valuable officer and your service to this ship has been exemplary. Furthermore, as you pointed out, Life Sciences is understaffed as it is. Phlox tells me Ms. Anlor's condition will keep her 'laid up' for a considerable time, and he has requested Ensign Samuels to assist him in treating both her and Corporal Korvakai who, if she can be convinced to cooperate, will need several operations. I could, in fact, use your help with her. I understand you've established something of a rapport."

There was no humor in her brief laugh. "Being women who get the hell beaten out of us by male sadists as 'examples' to get other men to talk, does kind of teach us who our enemies are." She agreed sardonically. "Sir."

He passed over her belated remembering not to include him in that generalization. "All this is not forgetting that we have a problem."

"It sounds like a familiar problem. She tried to give Tia to the Vulcans, and now me to Earth or wherever. What's her beef with Life Sciences?"

He could not repress a smile. "Unfortunately, it goes far beyond that. And it begs the question: Do you want to stay?"

All the wry humor dropped from her tone. "Very much, sir."

"Why?"

x

Liz's mouth fell open and she gaped at her Captain, unable to believe he'd asked the question.

"Ensign, I have not pressed you on a number of issues, but if I'm going to go to bat for you with Starfleet, I want to know exactly where we stand. I've reviewed your record. With your qualifications, you can easily get a post at any Research Facility you chose, anywhere from Earth all the way out to Cold Station 12, and they would be happy to have you. So I ask you again: Why do you want to stay with the Enterprise?"

Liz took a deep breath and tried to force the chill of apprehension down, to answer the man calmly and concisely. "Sir, my life is here on Enterprise; and I do not want to give it up. You say 'we are making history with every light year', but in every one of those light years there is a new planet to explore, new knowledge to uncover, and I modestly feel that I am the very best woman for the job.

"You say I have 'qualifications'. I was a straight-A student all my life; I graduated First in my Class, Magna Cum Laude, from James McKnight University, the Premier Medical College in the world. I hold 6 Doctorates in disciplines ranging from Exobiology to Exozoology. Entomology was my specialty until I got out here; I'm presently working on the 'Omni-ology of Biology'."

"The 'study of everything'." He concluded, impressed.

"To coin a term. I could work in any laboratory I wanted. I've had offers for everything from an Unlimited Research Grant to a teaching position in McKnight that would have put me on the fast track to a Professorship before I was twenty five. I _chose_ field work; and my 'qualifications' led you to choose me. Since stepping aboard this ship I have received a steady series of glowing reviews. Not _once_ have I dropped below a rating of A-star-star."

x

All of this Archer knew; but he was pleased to hear it with no small degree of appropriate pride from the woman who had driven herself to reach this height. "As I said, your abilities have never been in question. I selected you because of them, and I am gratified that your development has exceeded my expectations. But the issue before us is about other things. And since they were personal matters, I have not pressed you on them; until now. Now, if we are to fight the pressure that is going to be brought upon us very soon, I have to have the answers to some tough questions."

"Yes, sir." She steeled herself.

"Do you intend to keep this baby?"

"Yes." There was a time when she could not say that definitely. Now there was no doubt at all in her firm declaration.

"Is it your intent to stay aboard the Enterprise, and to try to raise a family here?"

"To the very ultimate limit of my ability, yes."

"Despite personal danger, to say nothing of inconvenience and complications?"

"Some might question my sanity – _I_ have numerous times – but if keeping this baby and staying aboard the Enterprise means hardship, then I am fully ready to deal with it and I can only beg the indulgence of my shipmates. Is it the Captain's intention to deny that request?"

"I haven't decided. Do you intend to marry the child's father?"

Liz Cutler opened her mouth to answer – and nothing came out. She tried again, and spoke only silence.

x

"Ensign?"

"Captain, I've been asking myself that question," she shook her head, "I don't know how many times. I love him – that is, I _think_ I do." He was surprised. He'd heard the proposal of marriage at her 'celebration party'; the entire ship had, but he had heard nothing on the subject since that morning. "I _should_ marry him. That's what a woman in my 'position' is expected; is 'supposed' to do; isn't she?"

She shook her head, feeling more lost by the moment. "But every time I ask myself if I'm going to accept his proposal, I get a different answer. It goes beyond 'legitimacy', beyond 'right thing to do'. It's not 'do I love him?' but 'do I love him enough to commit my life to him?'"

She lowered her head into her hands, hiding her face from the galaxy. "It's not like I don't know that I can make half of that woman's argument against me go away just by saying 'yes'. I know I could walk out of here right now, find Jim, go to Mother McCabe's office, scare up Hoshi and one of Jim's friends and we could have everything over and solved by supper."

She looked up at Archer, her eyes projecting her pain. "But I just don't … I can't … I don't _know_. It's more than this issue. I'm probably considered the biggest sinner on this ship – except Mother McCabe tells me I'm not. I can't make it a matter of 'convenience' – to make this problem go away – when I don't know if I love him enough to commit my whole life to him. I had a dream once that by the time I made up my mind and was in my wedding dress I was as big as the warp reactor … figuratively." She hastily amended. "But as God is my witness I don't _know_."

She took another deep, calming breath, and asked very carefully: "Is Starfleet going to make that a condition; going to _order_ me to get married?"

"_I'd_ leave first." He assured her, meaning every word. An institution that would do anything of the kind was one he would never want to be a part of.

"Then, Captain, all I can promise is that you'll know right after I do – if I ever _do_." They sat in silence for a few moments, she could think of no more words to day, and he stood up, indicating the conference was at an end. She rose, but still had to look up at him. "Captain, I know my – ambivalence – and my personal chaos, is putting you in a bad situation. I want you to know how sorry I am. If I could have undone any of these past two months…" She sighed feelingly. "I hope my problems don't come back to hurt your position."

"You just do your job, with the same efficiency you always have, and I'll worry about Marin. I'm officially reinstating you to Active Duty, effective immediately." He rather enjoyed the delight and astonishment on her face. He knew he was disregarding his own CMO's recommendation, but he had his own thoughts. "I just hope you're up to it."

"_Thank you_, Captain." She said with vast gratitude. "I won't let you down. I swear."


	7. Hope and Mistrust

Chapter Seven

Hope and Mistrust

Jonathan Archer was about to dismiss Cutler when his intercom sounded. Reaching out, he touched a button. "Archer."

"Ensign Samuels, sir, just outside Decon. I wanted to report that I've managed to reach an understanding with Corporal Alah Korvakai. She's willing to have Phlox treat her, and she's also willing to help us in dealing with her people."

'Finally some good news.' He thought. "Well done, Ensign. How did you manage that?"

"Accidentally, sir." There was a measure of embarrassment in the woman's tone. He exchanged a curious glance with Cutler.

"I trust you'll explain that?" He said over the intercom, his tone leaving no doubt that he expected an affirmative answer.

"I fed her … and it made her ill." Samuels admitted, her tone saying clearly that she was still omitting a wealth of detail. "But apparently it also showed that, while we want to help, we're not infallible. Our foibles and hardships say more about us, with greater sincerity, than our technological advances and our promises do."

"I'll have to remember that." He promised. "Send me a full report; and well done."

"Thank you, sir."

He closed the circuit. "How about that?"

"It looks like just what this universe needs;" Liz agreed, "more screw ups."

x

Archer chuckled, and allowed the woman to precede him out of the Ready Room, up the three steps and through the outer door. He barely set a foot on the bridge, however, thinking he could finally get to bed, when Hoshi Sato called his attention. "Captain, we're finally receiving a reply to our hails."

"Who is it, Lieutenant?" He asked, mentally switching gears and heading to his command chair rather than the turbo. Elizabeth Cutler paused, curious, beyond Reed's station on the upper level. She stood just forward of the Situation Board where Ann Anderson monitored various systems as an adjunct to T'Pol and Reed.

"I have a representative from one of the Manaxian colonies; this one on the southern hemisphere. It's the furthest from the Drailen compound. Her name is Nakar Tulariq. Her title is 'Soursan'. Nearest I can tell; it's analogous to 'General'."

He took his seat, hoping that this time there would be some progress. "On screen."

x

The image before them changed from the 'stationary' planet beside a field of rising stars to the interior of a room. The light level was about seventy percent of what the Enterprise crew was used to, which was quickly becoming a recurring theme. Without being told, Hoshi enhanced the image to bring it up to 'normal' lighting while not affecting the intensity of their transmission to the planet.

The woman on the screen was decidedly not young. Cutler, one of the only two aboard to have closely observed living Bethesnans for any length of time, still estimated her age in terms of humans at 70. She had that same gray pallor to her skin, whether natural pigment or from four years of lack of access to the surface and the sun, Cutler still had not yet decided. 'There's little chance to conduct biological tests,' she reflected, 'while you're having the hell beaten out of you.'

The woman's green, one piece uniform was a considerably cleaner, though far more ornate, version of Korvakai's, but it still showed considerable signs of wear. That too was consistent with what Cutler had seen in the Drailen cavern. The woman on the screen carried herself with an air of command that had become a heavy burden that had been accepted as being unlikely ever to be set down in this lifetime.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak to us, Soursan."

"Understand me well." She commanded firmly. "I do not trust you. Experience has taught us that outsiders are no more than mercenaries. I'm _told_ you are not here to sell your services in battle or your arms, but that you want to 'help' us."

"That's true. If we can, we would like to assist your people in establishing peace."

"And what is your profit?"

"We're not seeking profit."

"Then, 'Captain', what are you seeking?" Her voice was heavy with distrust.

"Our mission is to seek out new life; new civilizations; new worlds to explore. Our goal is friendly relations with all those we encounter."

"A laudable goal. Have you been successful?" She tested.

"Not as much as we'd like, but we keep searching."

She clearly considered her next point. "Tell me; what proof do you offer that we can believe what you say?"

This was the key. He could only hope it was right. "Two of our crew had been captured by Drailen forces. In rescuing them, we also rescued a Manaxian soldier, Corporal Alah Korvakai, of the 703rd Battalion. She had been held for a considerable time, tortured to reveal information. Her injuries are extensive, but our Doctor is working to heal her. She can tell you that what we say is the truth." He had already seen in her face that she intended to check the veracity of his statements, if an 'Alah Korvakai' was indeed a member of the 703rd.

"Our defenses detected a small ship approaching the surface two days ago." She admitted.

"That was our shuttle pod. It carried three scientists and a pilot on a research mission, to examine the flora and fauna of your world. We did not know your planet was inhabited."

"We detected only that one ship." She said suspiciously. "How did you accomplish the 'rescues' you speak of undetected?"

"We possess a device that can convert a physical object, such as a person, into energy and transmit it to another location. It is then reassembled at the point of transmission."

That seemed impressive, even if it did open the ground to new suspicion. "If you have such a device, which could place your crew upon our planet undetected, why did you use a 'shuttle pod'?"

Archer recognized he was being tested at every phase, and did not intend to fail.

"In sending a scientific party, we were looking for a place to run a variety of tests. The shuttle pod contained all the materials and instruments we needed for these tests. There was far too varied a range of testing instruments to use the transporter when we had not yet chosen a site."

"So you do have limits."

Archer smiled, conceding, remembering Dina Samuels' earlier report. "Yes."

x

The woman looked at him thoughtfully for many moments. "Captain, what is the hierarchical structure of your ship? You are in command. Who succeeds you?"

He extended his hand to his left. "My First Officer, T'Pol." T'Pol rose, allowing the woman to examine her. She did so minutely.

"Captain, if I were to send one of our doctors to you to examine this Corporal Korvakai, you will allow this?"

"I will."

"Before I do so, this woman will come to us. She will come without weapons, without instrumentation of any kind, and she shall remain with us under guard as long as our Doctor is aboard your vessel. Do you agree to this?"

"I do." He said, allowing a show of no hesitation. If he was going to get these people to trust him, a show of good faith was essential. He had to admit it was not an unreasonable request, nor a surprising one. "She will require a communications device, however, in order for our transporter to lock onto her to bring her back aboard."

The woman considered, looking for a lie. Finally, she nodded. "Done. She will, however, be closely supervised. If she attempts communication prematurely, or acts in a suspicious manner; or if we learn that you have harmed our Doctor, she will be executed immediately."

Well it was that they were discussing a Vulcan, for a human would have been unlikely to let no expression show at such terms. Archer looked briefly at her, long enough to get a short nod of compliance. "Done." He returned in kind.

The woman did not relax. "Captain, I repeat; I do not trust you or your offer. But I am willing to give you a chance; if you can do what you say. But I will do so with the absolute minimum risk to my people."

"I understand."

"Yes, I think you do. I hope you are telling the truth." Then her ramrod straight posture relaxed by a hair's breadth. "Captain, I have not always been a soldier; only since the war began. Four years ago, I was an artist. I especially enjoyed doing landscapes. I had a dream of capturing the incredible vistas of this planet, and bringing those images home to Bethesna, to the billions of people who would never see this world." She shook her head sadly. Archer remembered the rocky, barren and blighted terrain he'd seen during the rescue of his people.

"There is precious little above our heads now for me to paint."

xxx

As Archer and T'Pol approached the transporter alcove, he could sense that she was not pleased. He had not expected her to be. It is not easy to be 'volunteered' as a hostage.

T'Pol knew the he was no happier about the situation than she was, but that did not make it any easier. They both knew that a measure of balanced concessions was necessary; that there was little choice; that it was more a show of good faith than anything else. She just wished it were not one that had the potential of getting her killed.

"I'm really sorry about this." He felt the need to tell her.

"Do not be. It was a logical precaution for them to take. In the same situation I might have done the same – though I would not have emphasized the potentially fatal consequences." There; that was as much of her displeasure, of her 'turning the screw', as she would express.

It was enough.

He knew she had restrained herself from saying anything more, and the unsaid words stabbed at his conscience. "I'm sure we can all depend upon them keeping their word." He wondered which of them he was trying to convince. He decided it was more himself.

Trip was already at the transporter control. Anyone from Engineering could operate the device; he felt better doing it himself. Though he never took risks, this set of transports could not be left to any mistake.

"The situation demands a level of risk on both sides," T'Pol continued, "but they want their Doctor back too much to risk injuring me." She looked up at him. "I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will." There was a certain irony, he thought, in her reassuring him. As Captain, it was his 'job' to express that sentiment to a crewmember about to embark upon a dangerous mission.

They did, however, have one last piece of business to finalize. "Did you have any luck with the Vulcan High Command?"

"Regrettably, there was too little time. I had intended to perform that duty in the privacy of my quarters." He'd been afraid of that; circumstances had progressed too rapidly. "I did not anticipate not having the opportunity to do so."

"Well, perhaps Phlox can get through to them."

"It is possible. The Doctor is well respected." She certainly did not need to add that a contact by Archer could only hurt their cause.

"Just the same, be careful down there."

She stepped into the transporter alcove. "Try not to left their Doctor get killed."

"I'll try." What a wealth of meaning was in that ironic exchange.

Trip activated the intercom. "Bridge; do we have the transport coordinates?"

"Yes, Commander." Ann Anderson reported from T'Pol's station. "We have the settings for both Commander T'Pol and for their 'delegate'. The coordinates are only two meters apart, and sensors show seven life signs present. Feeding coordinates to your board now."

Trip double checked the settings and then gave Archer a quick nod. "See you later." Archer told his Science Officer, and a second later the woman's body was suffused with a rush of scintillating white light, the last to vanish being at chest height.

x

Trip reset the controls, and again the transporter activated, this time the twinkling lights resolving into a tall man with slightly grayed skin, a green uniform considerably less worn than Korvakai's or Tulariq's, and with an amazed expression on his elderly face. In his hand was a large yellow satchel. "Captain Archer?" He inquired uncertainly of the two men before him.

"I'm Jonathan Archer; this is my Chief Engineer, Commander Charles Tucker."

"Doctor Masvir Alvarku, CMO of Mintarle colony."

"Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain." He looked about the alcove. "A most impressive way to travel; it didn't hurt a bit."

Archer smiled. "We try to keep it painless."

"When they told me I was going up into a spaceship, I confess I was not looking forward to it. I'm a little too old for rocket launches." He shook his head, and there was sadness in the gesture. "When I left Bethesna eleven years ago, I thought I'd experienced my last one. I'm gratified to be right."

He stepped down from the platform. On a level with the others, he was about an inch shorter than Trip, and though his posture was erect it was heavy with age. "I understand you have a Manaxian patient aboard."

"She's in our Decontamination section. Among other things, our Doctor says her immune system is depleted. The Decon section is a self contained environment which will protect her from exposure to anything dangerous. Our Doctor Phlox will meet us there." Archer indicated the direction.

"Would you like me to carry that for you?" Tucker offered, indicating the obviously heavy satchel.

"Thank you, young man." Alvarku replied gratefully, handing over the supplies, which Trip found to be quite heavier than he'd expected. "I had no information about what was wrong, so I brought a little of everything."

Trip's glance at Archer communicated his thoughts. 'A little of everything, indeed.'

xxx

T'Pol materialized in a large room that was hewn out of solid rock. Though efforts had been made to make it into something usable, lights and furnishings and heating units having been installed, and even paintings on the walls, it could not be seen for anything other than what it was; a squared off cave.

A moment later one of the surrounding seven green clad soldiers dematerialized, but her attention was on the other six, five of whom had rifles trained on her.

She did her best to ignore the deadly weapons fixed upon her, visibly focusing her attention on the only woman present, the one she recognized from the viewscreen. "Soursan Tulariq; I am Commander T'Pol, Science Officer of the Enterprise."

"Welcome, Commander T'Pol. Please forgive our caution, but you must first be searched for any weapons."

"You specified I was to be unarmed." She made it clear in her tone that they would not have considered doing anything else. "Nonetheless…" She raised her arms, extending them outward to either side.

The Vulcan uniform she wore, a skintight material in two shades of blue, was clearly not designed to hide anything at all. The soldier who searched her was cautious but discreet, perhaps because little more than a cursory examination was needed, perhaps because his Soursan was watching. T'Pol did not draw conclusions.

At a signal from the older woman, the remaining soldiers lowered their rifles. "I am sure you can understand our caution."

"As you can understand mine. It has been our experience that females are not treated well on this planet."

There. She could get away with one pointed 'observation', considering that Tia had been shot by one of the Drailen soldiers, several others had beaten Elizabeth Cutler excessively on several occasions, and Alah Korvakai had been the victim of experiences that could only be described as 'horrific'.

"I make no excuses, nor have any tolerance, for what Drailen soldiers have done." 'General' Tulariq declaimed, emphasizing the 'Drailen' reference quite strongly, as if it would never be considered here. T'Pol was willing to grant the point as far as this woman's Command, though perhaps not necessarily those of Manaxians in general.

"Soursan, I am a Vulcan, and while I have spent considerable time in our 'Diplomatic Corps', there are times when 'diplomacy' must give way to logic. I would say that it is important, in any potential negotiations such as we would hope to establish, that everyone remember that it is 'Bethesnan' soldiers we refer to."

Tulariq looked around at the uniformed men surrounding them, and then back to T'Pol. "'Regrettably', my dear, there _are_ no Bethesnan soldiers in these colonies."

xxx

As Archer and Tucker approached the Decon section with their companion, Phlox turned to meet them. Doctor Alvarku halted in surprise at seeing the Denobulan. "Your ship does offer wonders, Captain." The older man allowed. They continued forward, and greetings were exchanged. "I've never met a Denobulan." Alvarku observed unnecessarily.

"Nor I a Bethesnan until yesterday." Phlox replied with an impressively wide smile.

"I hope our association will be a pleasant one."

"I'm sure it will be."

"I've met my share of aliens, those who have been hired either by our people or the Drailens. I meet them when they're wounded. They come to me for aid, to be saved from their wounds, Nausicans, Dremites, Kitarians; it's _never_ a pleasant experience."

"Why not?" Trip asked. He'd never met a Nausican he really liked, but the other races were not all that bad as a whole.

"I don't know how to treat them. I usually cannot save them."

x

"Well," Phlox said to break the silence that followed, "this should be more hopeful." He directed the man's attention to the 'window' beside the Decon room door. Inside, past the first room, they could see Alah Korvakai laying on the cot, two devices standing on wheeled poles next to her, dripping fluids that entered her left arm.

"It will be a pleasant change." Alvarku said, looking through the glass at his next patient. This one, at least, he felt confident that he could save.

"You'll have to wear an environmental suit to go in there. Until she is stable, neither of us can risk contamination."

"What is her condition?"

"Malnutrition approaching starvation, dehydration; we're treating both. Numerous broken bones including shattered right hand; all allowed to heal without setting or treatment. Contusions, lacerations, burns; signs of internal bleeding on numerous occasions; disease resulting from almost daily rapes."

"How long was she a prisoner?" Alvarku asked at the conclusion of this outrageous litany.

"She estimates almost a half of your year. She was tortured daily to convince her associates to confess their secrets. Impressively, she outlived all of them. It's theorized she was allowed to survive in the hopes that more prisoners would be captured, and then the 'demonstrative interrogations' could be resumed."

Alvarku was disgusted, looking at the woman in the chamber though addressing Phlox. "I've heard about such things. I had hoped they were propagandist rumors."

"Unfortunately, they do not seem to be."

"I 'retired' from practicing medicine about nine years ago, when I emigrated to this planet in hopes of living out the last of my life in peace and quiet. I figured at worst, I'd treat the occasional illness or accident, sort of do what I could if I was needed." He looked back to Phlox. "It's been a hell of a retirement."


	8. Healing and More Wounds

Chapter Eight

Healing and more wounds

Elizabeth Cutler was walking down D deck's corridor when she suddenly became aware she was not alone, that Ensign Dina Samuels walked beside her. She looked up at the taller woman, surprised. "Hi."

"How are you doing?"

"Well, let's see." She considered. "Every bruise on my body hurts, I can barely move my left arm above shoulder height; every time I move something reminds me I'd rather be in bed, and my face looks like a map of Luna. Other than that, I'm just peachy." She concluded with a grin.

"Well, as long as nothing's wrong…" Dina quipped in an equally trivial tone. They reached a junction and Elizabeth, on the right, tried to make a left turn but Dina casually blocked her, herding her to the right instead.

"What's up?" She asked, mildly surprised at being steered in the opposite direction.

"I just got off at the lab. You have some time?"

Liz shrugged. "I guess so. What have you got in mind?"

"I remember all too short a time ago, when I was hurting, very badly; you were the first one to reach out to me, and helped me through a tough period." She referred to her rape at the hands of the giant Capellan Saal, when that man and others were supposed to be aboard as part of a 'diplomatic delegation'. He had considered her duties in showing himself and his fellows to quarters to involve more of a 'reception', and when she had resisted they had fought and he'd raped her.

"Saal hurt me worse than I ever imagined any man could, but everyone stood by me, especially you." They stopped before a door on their right, one Liz remembered intimately. "I'd like to return a part of the favor."

"Thank you." Liz said sincerely, understanding some of what the woman had in mind.

x

The room they entered was little more than a storage compartment, barely three meters square, large enough only for a single chair, large mirror on the wall and several storage compartments set into the walls. Its purpose, storage, had been converted as an 'afterthought' when it was realized that, in outfitting a starship for a years long voyage, no provision was made for having the crew avoid looking like 'beatnicks' after three months out or; while exploring strange new worlds, avoiding looking like they had just come from one.

Dina Samuels, having some skill in the field, had applied to the Captain to take on this role, consequently acquiring the nickname of 'the barber' from the men while women referred to her as 'the beautician'. The female crewpersons continually referred to compartment E247 as 'the beauty parlor', an appellation that never caught on with their counterparts.

Turning on the lights in the 'appointment only' room, Dina directed Liz to the chair. "When Saal got done with me, first in the 'Delegate Quarters, then in the Launching Bay, I looked a lot like you."

"I remember." Dina, in an effort to overcome her paralyzing fear, had challenged the huge alien to single combat, and had come very close to losing, only a dogged determination keeping her going in the end.

Dina draped a blue cloth about Liz's shoulders, fastening it under the woman's short brown hair. "There was a time, on Earth, when we would spend an hour getting make-up _just right_, not a luxury we can afford on a starship unless we want to be out of bed two hours too soon – and me, I like my sleep – but there are times when it's appropriate." From one of the wall units she withdrew a case, setting it on the ledge under the large mirror and opening it.

"You're right. I generally don't do more than a good washing, but if you can help…" She looked at the bruises covering her face, the bandages that could not yet be removed; the blackened eyes and split lips, and just wanted them gone. When she'd realized, in the Sick Bay's privy, how she looked to Jim Cein and everyone else, she had been utterly humiliated.

She had tried to make herself up to at least look 'presentable', but didn't have half the necessary supplies to accomplish the job. The best she'd managed was a lightening of the bruises, but not the total 'coverage' necessary. She'd have used up all her supplies, but was relieved to see that Dina did have the proper items in sufficient quantity.

Before turning to her, Dina adjusted the room's controls, adjusting the light to compensate for the reflected light from the mirror, to allow her to choose shades that would not be visible outside this room. "Lighting is so very important."

"Amen."

"When I'm done," Dina promised, picking up a jar and light brush, "you're going to stop Jim's heart."

Liz chuckled, looking at her bruised and bandaged face in the mirror. "I do that now."

xxx

"When we came to this world, what seems like so long ago," Tulariq said, handing T'Pol a tea cup as they sat in her 'office', another chamber hewn out of the rock, also with heat and lighting installed, "there were few, if any, military men or women. It was clear from the early days of settlement that there were few living dangers. Such weapons as we had languished in storage, as there was no one to use them against. Our colonies were all on the surface, widely scattered over this continent in case illness or natural catastrophe decimated or destroyed any one colony. Existing caverns near each colony were hewn out by powerful digging machines to provide shelter from unanticipated incidents, but even they were ignored after the first few years, as stronger and stronger settlements were able to weather anything nature threw at us.

"We lived in reasonable peace, growing fairly independently of any of the other colonies. It was intended that we become as self-sufficient as possible, no colony having to depend upon any other, in case something went wrong. Such soldiers as we had were mostly vacationing after a time."

T'Pol tasted the 'tea'. It was not unpleasant, tasting slightly similar to Earth almonds. "What happened?"

Tulariq shook her head. "Stupidity, plain and simple. Ancient rivalry over nothing, and politicians who didn't care about their people." She sighed. "Forgive me, I'm an artist, not a soldier, despite this damned uniform I have to wear." She looked around the 'cave'. "This is nothing like my home on the surface. _That_ was truly beautiful."

x

She sighed again, and this time looked even older. "Back home, Drail and Manaxia have always been in competition – for everything. They may not have been 'enemies' in the strict sense of the word, but they were the next best thing. Competition was fierce and unbounded. But mostly, in the past few years, they argued over a collection of tremendous islands in the Dupravne ocean, virtually a continent in themselves. They are in our tropic region, beautiful sites perfect for relaxation, unfortunately with the most fertile soil on the planet, and a growing season of 91 percent of our year.

"First they were converted into farms, not a popular decision for the people who lived there, and then ownership of them became a fiery issue. It was 'claimed' they were needed for food, because our populations had grown so large at home that the main lands could not sustain everyone.

"In the meantime, we on this planet had tens of _thousands_ of miles of arable land completely untouched. There were billions of acres of potential farms that could feed millions upon millions of people; more than the collective colonies could possibly use. All that needed to be done was to cultivate them.

"But no. 'Our' leaders, and Drail's, wanted that land, and they wanted it now. When you come down to it, I believe the food itself was just an excuse. They wanted it, and they were determined to have it.

"They started to fight, the soldiers we had here were called back to fight, and it had been years since a colonist has set foot on this planet. The war polarized people here, for the first time our colonies could not get along. Then, four years ago, open warfare broke out _here_."

Tulariq sighed sadly, putting down her cup on the table beside her. She continued her story – it was as if she had to, that she had to relate the sad tale of her world's collapse to anyone who would listen, and T'Pol was an interested listener indeed. "I remember the first day; none of us could believe it was happening. None of us could believe the bombs were actually coming, were actually falling on us, were actually destroying our homes; killing our people. It was a nightmare – but one we have not been able to wake up from. Those of us who could found shelter in the caves; those colonies that had weapons fought back.

"Those in power, or those that took power, declared themselves in alliance with their homelands, and the battle spread. We were miles and miles away from one another, and yet we fought. We were billions of miles from home, and still we fought – because they were fighting, and Manaxians had to beat Drailens, and Drailens had to beat Manaxians.

"The shelters that were intended to weather natural calamities became our homes. Outside, ironically, the first things that went were our farms. Cultivating them became dangerous in light of 'enemy' attacks, and what we glean from them is barely enough to feed us."

"Have you not been able to negotiate a cease fire with your fellow colonists?"

"Some have tried, none have succeeded. Our leaders keep us in a constant 'nationalistic' fervor – death to Drail, victory for Manaxia. Victory at home. Victory here. We haven't even heard from Bethesna in what seems an eternity."

xxx

Phlox and Alvarku, clad in copper colored space suits and helmets, entered the Decon chamber. The blue light suffusing the chamber showed that the sterilization field was still functioning, still working to protect the room's occupant from harmful bacteria and disease. In her present depleted condition, this meant every known type.

She picked her head up when she saw two figures approaching. The first she recognized as the alien – no, 'Denobulan' – Doctor. But she particularly picked up when she realized the other person was a Bethesnan.

The Denobulan allowed her newer visitor to approach first. He set a medical pouch next to the bed. She felt unduly relieved at the sight of the yellow container. "I'm Dr. Alvarku, from Mintarle colony."

"Corporal Korvakai," She replied, her dry voice breaking. "407th Battalion."

"The hell with that." He dismissed, taking a cup of water from the table beside her and giving it to her. "Where are you from, Korvakai?"

She smiled gratefully, if a little weakly. "Tuvaria." She gave back the cup.

"I visited the Tuvar colony a year before the fighting broke out." He said, returning the cup to the table. Tuvar was one of three places on the planet to go from a 'colony' to a 'place'. That feeling was not easily shed. "It was a nice place."

"_Was_."

"It could be again." He told her. All that it needed was a few years of peace.

"I doubt I'll ever see it."

"I don't lose patients, young lady." He declared the lie firmly. "And I'll be damned if I start with you."

He stood up, opening the yellow pouch. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

xx

While Phlox stood by and observed, Alvarku gave her a thorough examination, probing everywhere. He examined the two needles inserted into her left arm, obtaining from Phlox a detailed breakdown of the contents of the two clear fluids dripping into the tubes from the bags; checked her body both outside and in, a probing examination as detailed as it was invasive. He pressed various parts of her body, asking if it hurt. It usually did. Using a probing device not unlike Phlox's scanner, he examined her heart, lungs and other organs, had her move her body to the limits of her mobility, he examined her wounds and applied various creams to them.

He asked her dozens of questions, probed her verbally as intently as physically, in the end opening a small bottle and tapping out two pills. "Here." He gave her the two round white tablets and the cup of water. "Take two of these, and call me in the morning."

It hurt to laugh, but Korvakai could not help it.

xx

When the two physicians exited the chamber back into the corridor, Archer and Tucker were long gone. The examination had taken about half an hour, and when Phlox closed the door to the Decon chamber tightly and assisted Alvarku with removing the unfamiliar helmet, the Bethesnan doctor looked at him with undisguised anger. "Can she hear us?"

"No."

"_Bastards_!" That was the only word the UT managed to render for two long breaths. "Excuse me. I normally do not use such language." He said, considerably more calmly, when he wound down.

"Don't worry; I didn't understand a word of it."

"Your translator is selectively discreet?"

"Sometimes I'm told it simply does not work reliably, but I'm inclined to believe you might be right."

"What they did to that little girl was nothing short of monstrous."

"Little girl?" Phlox asked kindly. He did not have full knowledge of Bethesnan physiology, but he had put her age at just under thirty five Terran years, or over thirty Denobulan.

Alvarku shrugged. "Perhaps after eight decades I'm just getting old, but to me anyone under forty is a kid." Phlox assisted him with removing the unfamiliar suit. "You seem to have done a good job so far. I'd like to see your Infirmary, see what records you have."

Phlox directed him down the corridor. "This way to Sick Bay."

xxx

Elizabeth Cutler stepped into the Life Science Lab, moving very gingerly. It was one thing to insist upon her return to work, quite another to actually do so.

"Hey, Liz!" Sarah Dutton exclaimed, the blonde woman throwing her arms about her friend with an overabundance of enthusiasm. "How are you doing?"

Liz groaned, wincing at the tight hug, and had to push her friend away. "Fine, until I got here."

"I'm sorry." Sarah said contritely, drawing away. "I wasn't thinking."

"No, it's all right. I just … have to be careful, that's all."

She turned, seeing Sam Harris come up. "Don't worry." The man was like a mountain beside her. "I won't hug you."

"Come here, you big teddy bear." Liz exclaimed, grabbing the front of his uniform and pulling him closer. The 'giant's' embrace was just a gentle enfolding of his powerful arms about her. She could not even reach around him to touch her own fingertips. She'd seen him bench press over two hundred kilos in the gym.

"So," she said, drawing back from the huge man, "what does our illustrious 'Directress' have us doing?"

"Hoshi stopped by a little while ago." He told her. "They've beamed up more plants from the surface. We're to analyze them, see what potential there is for introducing methods of increasing yields. The Captain hopes that if we can help increase their crop, it will go some way in the peace talks."

'Peace talks.' The words made Cutler's bruises ache, but she forced the response down. "Should have had us analyze the last batch first, before they made our patient sick." She said sourly.

"From what we hear from Dina, it wasn't all to the bad." Harris observed.

"Just the same, I'm not going to let Chef live it down." Liz replied with a wry grin. "So, how's our new 'Directress' working out?"

"Okay, I guess. She's not leaning on us, just lets us get about our business. Still, I wish they would make a decision about appointing one of us, or bring in a real scientist soon."

"Why?"

"Well, Hoshi's a great gal and all that, I like her, she's a wizard in her field but…" Harris paused, looking for some diplomatic word. He knew Hoshi was Liz's best friend.

"But she doesn't belong in charge of us." Sarah supplied with a dearth of diplomacy, no surprise to Liz. The woman was a friend, but was too inclined to be free in speaking her mind, a fact that had led to more than one embarrassment for her. "Didn't you say that what she knows about Life Sciences could be scrawled on a nanochip?"

Liz wondered where the story had been filtered from. Only Hoshi, Tia and Phlox had been present. "Sort of." She admitted. "What I said was –."

"Well, it'd have to be an awfully _small_ nanochip."

Liz Cutler was about to observe that nanochips come in only one size, and exactly what the woman could do with one, when Harris cut in smoothly. "If you're feeling up to it, I'd like you to look at these projections." He picked up a Padd from his worktable. "I think we can do something with an orange bulb they have that's almost like a tomato…"

xxx

"Assuming our Doctors can treat and heal Corporal Korvakai," T'Pol proposed to her 'hostess', "do you believe our Captain's assertion that it will be significant in bringing your people to a 'bargaining table'?"

"It sounds like your Captain has considerable diplomatic skills," Tulariq allowed, "but I am dubious that anyone can accomplish bringing eleven fighting colonies to any kind of table."

T'Pol reflected that she had been somewhat 'generous' in describing Archer's 'skill' at diplomacy. They had had many occasions with it that had truly turned out well for all sides, and others that could have been spectacular disasters, but this was not a time to appear as weak as she felt her human shipmates were.

"You say eleven colonies. Is it not more a matter of seven colonies and four?"

'General' Tulariq shook her head. "You give us credit for too much unity. The colonies are Manaxian and Drailen, split just as you describe, but there is no real unity between any of us. I'm 'in charge' of Mintarle, but I can't tell Sunarle, Tuvar, Kiersnan or any of the others what to do. I can suggest, negotiate, but if I try to _tell_ them, they will tell me precisely where I can put my suggestion."

To T'Pol, the news was not good either. "Without a unifying force, it is unlikely that any effective negotiation can take place."

"They tried forming a Council at the start of the war, but it came to nothing. They tried for too much too quickly. When the war started we were taken so by surprise that we suffered massive casualties. Two of our colonies lost most of their leaderships in the first attack, the survivors were just trying to pull themselves together and figure out what had happened. Sunarle lost about forty percent of its population in the first attack. None of us were ready.

"Then some people got the bright idea of forming a united front against the Drailen. They took the leaders of the seven colonies, none of whom were wartime leaders, and put them into a room to try to hash out a unity. It collapsed in less than a day. Don't forget, these were independent and sovereign colonies and they tried to unify seven of us; hundreds of claiqs apart; under one banner – _before_ establishing the proper protocols and easing into the subject.

"I understand the Manaxians didn't fare much better; and they fired the first shot. Now no one will come back to a table. Each colony is working for itself, with the 'hope' that if there is not a united offensive it will eventually die out. But it has been going on for four years, and the only ones who are dying out are our people."

xxx

Phlox showed his new colleague the readings he had taken from Alah Korvakai, interpreting the symbology for the physician. "On the whole, once we stabilize her immunity to disease, particularly those on this ship, the rest of the damage is secondary. She will require several operations. Many of the bones, particularly in her right hand, will have to be separated and reknit, though I have instrumentality that can do the job very quickly. A broken bone can be regenerated in a little less than three hours."

"Impressive." Alvarku looked around the Sick Bay. "I wish I had half these instruments in Mintarle colony. I could do so much. I wonder," He turned to Phlox, his expression hopeful, "would I be able to get access to your database? You undoubtedly have information on treating species I've never heard of, but I'm particularly interested in the species I have to watch die on my tables."

"Absolutely." Phlox said expansively. "Anything you need."

"Thank you. I can help our own people, but sometimes … no, _too often_ … I'm called in to try to save someone who's too far gone before he or she can even reach the colony again. I've spent far too much time watching our people die."

"Unfortunately your planet is 'dying' as well." Phlox said, sorry to have heard so gloomy a prognosis and not really wanting to add to it. "Your wildlife that has not already died has left the areas of your colonies, while frequent battles have devastated your arable lands. Our analysis shows that if the devastation is unchecked, your supplies of food will be exhausted within four years."

Alvarku's smile was grim. "I'd given it three and a half, but it doesn't matter. I doubt I'd want to be around in that final half year."

xxx

"Captain's Log, August 25th. Commander T'Pol has returned to the Enterprise following the return of the Bethesnan doctor Masvir Alvarku, and both she and Phlox have presented their respective reports and prognoses. I must say, all things considered, that I prefer Phlox's. I –." The intercom beeped. "Computer, pause." He reached out to touch the intercom button on his desk. "Archer."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain," Hoshi's voice filtered through the intercom, "but Admiral Forrest is on Channel 1." From her tone, he could tell she'd picked up on the fact that the message was going to disturb him.

"Send it though, Lieutenant."

A second later his monitor screen lit up with the image of Admiral Maxwell Forrest. Hoshi had been right. Even if she could not have seen the man's face, she had indeed picked up on the fact that he was not happy. "Hello, Jon."

"Good morning, Admiral." He tried to put a favorable note into the greeting.

"How goes your mission?"

Archer knew he could regale the Admiral with glowingly optimistic reports of the progress the two Doctors had made in establishing a treatment regimen for their patient, who would in turn act as spokeswoman in favor of Starfleet's 'healing' of the planet; or he could tell him about the intelligence gathered by T'Pol in her long and in-depth consultation with the Manaxian leader of Mintarle colony; or he could tell his C.O. the truth.

"Not well, sir. It appears there is no central authority down there capable of declaring a 'cease fire'. Without one, or at least a strong voice to convince others, we're looking at a prolonged series of negotiations, with up to eleven independent colonies, that could come apart at any moment."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Starfleet can send negotiators who can try to act based upon your reports and observations, but I can't authorize the Enterprise to stay in that area indefinitely."

"I know that, sir." They had a mission of exploration, one that after two years was still in its infancy, and to stay in any one place for days or weeks at a time, which was what this situation seemed to be shaping up to do, was prohibitive.

"I can give you twenty four hours, forty eight on the outside, no more. Then I have another assignment for you."

"I understand." He had to wonder what could be accomplished in two days that those who wanted peace on the planet had not been able to accomplish in four years.

"In the meantime, we have another problem."

Archer had known this shoe was going to drop. "Helen Marin."

"I had thought she was going to bring pressure to Starfleet for her cause, perhaps enlist the Vulcans. She did all that, but I did not anticipate the extent of her plan."

"Admiral?"

Forrest was uncomfortable, very much so. "There's no easy way to say this, Jon. I might as well show you. This is from this morning's broadcast, and it's only one of several."

At the touch of a button on his desk, his image was replaced by that of a man and woman seated on a dais, the woman behind a white desk and the man to the left, seated upon a couch. Archer recognized them immediately as commentators on a San Francisco news program.

x

"What about this case of what's happening aboard Enterprise?" The woman asked, brushing a lock of her long blonde hair aside. "Isn't that just shocking?"

"Yes, Trudy." The man opined accommodatingly. "We understand that one of the scientists aboard the long range starship 'Enterprise' is pregnant. Now normally this would be good news, and we would wish her well, but it seems there's more to the story. It seems that not only is she unmarried, but she does not intend to _get_ married, and is actually _flouting_ authority by determining to raise this baby in the unsafe conditions of a starship that has seen more than its fair share of space battles; almost right next to an inadequately tested, barely safe nuclear reactor that powers the ship."

"That sort of raises 'irresponsible' to a whole new level."

"It's not the first example of questionable judgments where that ship is concerned, but it is certainly the most blatant."

The image shifted to the woman behind the desk, and behind her was a picture displayed on a huge screen. It was of Elizabeth Cutler, but she was most certainly not in uniform. It was an 'action' picture of her on a beach, one clearly taken well prior to Enterprise's launch, better than three years was Archer's guess. He took her to be about twenty when this image was recorded. The young woman was 'wearing' a _very_ small bikini and she seemed to be having a very good time, laughing happily, about to catch a red beach ball, a spray of water striking her, her short hair a windblown riot. Archer had to admit the image made her look quite fetching indeed – if he were not so angry.

"Starfleet does seem to have some interesting officers." The man observed. Cutler's 'bikini' left very little to the imagination.

"Yes, Bob, but I think their choices in more than swimsuits could use some scrutiny."

"I'm sure she undergoes _plenty_ of 'scrutiny'." He observed, making particular note of her charms.

"But it seems the young woman, identified as Lizzy Cutler, was not using the contraceptive medications required for all personnel serving in deep space. She was with her boyfriend, Security Guard James Cein; and they were both on duty when they 'done the deed'."

"Makes you wonder just what is going on in deep space that we're not aware of." Her partner slipped in. "I have to ask what our tax credits are going for and if this is an isolated incident like Starfleet would have us believe. Male and female crews on long range missions; is this the first pair to get caught 'with their pants down'?"

"Apparently not." Trudy declined. "We understand two officers of Enterprise, one a Computer Technician and the other a Security Officer, were recently Court Martialed not long after it came out that they were engaging in an illicit _Lesbian_ affair, though Starfleet chose to try them on a charge of 'sabotage'."

"Makes you wonder just what they were trying to 'sabotage'?"

"And that incident led to another female officer attempting to commit suicide."

"What kind of 'supervision' exists out there?"

"I have to wonder, when even the Chaplain of the ship has come under suspicion. It's been reported that '_Reverend'_ Patricia McCabe, sent there to uphold the _Spiritual_ lives of the crew, has been pursuing a _physical_ relationship with the Chief of Security."

"Isn't he the boss of this James Cein, who's been doing the horizontal mambo with Lizzy Cutler?"

"Indeed it is. Apparently this is a case of the rot starting at the top."

x

Trudy addressed the camera, speaking to her 'suitably outraged' audience. "We spoke to Ms. Helen Marin, a member of the Executive Board of the United Earth Space Probe Agency, who had this to say:"

The image behind the woman changed to a face that Archer had fervently hoped he would never see again. Her hair, brown with barely hidden grey, was pulled tightly back in a severe bun, and her face was that of one who rarely smiled, at least not with pleasure. He considered it fortunate for her that she was thousands of light years out of his reach.

"This incident is indicative of an endemic trend in deep space. Male and female officers of Starfleet serve together in _very_ close quarters, virtually unsupervised due to the vast distances they traverse; fraternizing _at will_. Not only is this situation prevalent on Enterprise, though that ship is a good example, but the problem exists everywhere in Starfleet. These ships and bases are virtually sovereign, with a 'don't ask, don't tell' attitude that rots the moral fiber of humanity itself."

"Can you give us an example?" An off-camera interviewer asked.

"About a year ago it became known that the Captain of the Enterprise, one Jonathan Archer, so exceeded the bounds of his authority that he actually _bought_ a _slave_ _girl_ from an alien species. When the United Earth Space Probe Agency attempted to ascertain the situation, we were stonewalled by Starfleet at every turn. I understand that this slave girl, who when purchased was not even an adult but an _underage minor_ in the view of her species, is still performing _services_ aboard the Enterprise."

"Shocking."

"They say she is working – but her work is in _biology_. She calls herself a 'Glistni'."

"Is that anything like Geisha?"

"Perhaps, but I have no adequate answers about _what_ she does."

"I'm sure people would want to know what's going on up there."

"It seems even the ship's _Physician_ is not immune from this moral rot. I understand this 'Doctor Phlox' is actually an avowed Bigamist – and makes no attempt whatsoever to hide his outlandish lifestyle. He currently has _three wives_, and there have been over _thirty children_ produced from this chaotic union."

"No wonder he's gone into space. Are things out of control up there?"

"They must be, when even Starfleet turns a blind eye. It's widely reported that the ship's Communications Officer, Lieutenant Hoshi 'Star' Sato, while on duty during an 'away mission', was caught cavorting in the _nude_ in public! We understand she was arrested, spent some time in the brig and was subsequently Court Martialed."

"And she's still on duty out there? How is that?"

"Well, Tom, I'm given to understand she's a very _talented_ and beautiful young woman, and an experienced 'cunning linguist', if you take my meaning."

"Ah. A woman of many '_skills'_.

"So it seems. But that's not the only legal offense on the books out there. Not long ago one of the women in the Life Sciences Division, Miss Dina Samuels, was _raped_ by a member of an alien 'diplomatic delegation'. When she tried to prefer charges, the action was squashed by Starfleet, and instead Captain Archer signed a _trade contract_ with these creatures. To date there has been no formal redress of that poor girl's violation."

"That is appalling."

"Not half as appalling as when we discovered that Reverend McCabe had actually fallen under suspicion of _murder_ – the murder of another Priest."

"You're kidding. Murder?"

"To date there is no direct evidence that she did not do it. Starfleet rendered a 'verdict' of 'suicide'. I'll leave it up to you if you believe that one."

x

"This is absolutely outrageous."

"But not at all surprising. We have it on good authority that a member of the crew has even been accused of using the ship's security cameras to spy on the women of the ship, and there exists a vast supply of, shall we say, sexually _explicit_ photos of all the women, showing them engaged in … well you can imagine what. Even the _Priest_ aboard is not spared this violation, though her behavior with a certain Chief of Security and lingering suspicion of her involvement in murder does leave her with very little moral high ground.

"On that one ship alone there are not only these incidents, but there is an officer serving there who for a long time has been having _sexual_ relations with an _alien_. Knowingly fraternizing with another human is one thing; having carnal relations with an _alien_ is quite another. Furthermore, that is not the only pregnancy that has been reported on that ship. Almost two years ago the Chief Engineer _also_ became pregnant – on this occasion again in relations with an alien. Most outrageously of all, _that_ baby was given up to _alien_ control."

The image of Marin was cut off, and the camera cut to the man on the couch.

"Sounds like the situation out there is completely out of control."

"Yes it does."

"Is there no one able to step up and take responsibility?"

"We tried to reach someone in Starfleet willing to do so, but thus far no one has responded to our request for ans-." The image cut off to be replaced by that of the Admiral, who looked out from the screen.

His barely contained anger was replaced by question. "Jon?"

The Captain of the Enterprise was gone.

x

"Jon?"

A moment later Archer sat down in his chair again, visibly trying to contain his rage.

"Unfortunately, that's not the only one. I can play you one that makes the last sound complimentary."

Of that Archer had no doubt.

"Starfleet never released the details of Commander Tucker's 'incident' with the Xyrillian woman Ah'len, though we don't have to look too far for the source of the leak. Furthermore, no information was ever disseminated about the Commander's personal relationship with Ambassador Anlor; we felt that was none of anyone's business. Same with Cutler and Cein. The incident with Ensign Samuels is deeply regretted, and has never been released to the public. Reverend McCabe's presence on the ship had been released by U.E.S.P.A. in promotion of their 'Chaplains Corps Initiative'. It made the usual News stories, most notably in her home town, but again nothing personal had been made public. None of this slanderous material has. Nor has anything about Beta Aracnae, and certainly not about the 'ceremony' of Lieutenant Sato's promotion.

"Marin, as a member of the Executive Committee, has access to official reports, and she has manipulated them skillfully to produce this outrageous garbage."

There was no need for Forrest's reassurances, but Archer appreciated them nonetheless. "How is Starfleet going to respond to this?" He could already read the answer in the man's grim expression.

"I've already filed a formal protest with the U.E.S.P.A. Our legal department is going to be working 24/7, but this garbage spreads fast. Admiral Black has already contacted me, and seems to have swayed Leonard to his side."

Black had been of absolutely no help in the incident with Dina Samuels and the Capellans, further emphasizing his lack of concern for the woman by sending a recorded packet of orders rather than communicating directly, as Forrest always did. It appeared that _now_ he was willing to step in and have a hand in resolving the matter – on the wrong side.

"I'm sorry, Jon. I've consulted with Admiral Williams; who's siding with me; and Black and Leonard, who are not. They're in agreement. 'Starfleet cannot afford the black eye this is giving us.' That's how they're playing it. And while we are launching a campaign of 'corrected information', it takes ten thousand corrections to wipe out a single innuendo, and Marin has pulled out all the stops. It looks like a mighty rough ride ahead for your people.

"In the meantime, Williams, Leonard and I have reached an agreement about Ms. Cutler."

Archer did not like the grimness in his friend's tone. "And that is?"

"Bring her home."


	9. Crucified

Chapter Nine

Crucified

"Admiral, I protest."

"I dare say you're going to be doing a lot of that in the next few days, but the decision is made. Elizabeth Cutler's commission is being revoked even as we speak. You are ordered to return her to Earth at the earliest possible date consistent with essential concerns of your present mission."

Archer tried his best to keep his tone level, not forgetting that his friend was on his side. "Admiral, you know as well as I do that Elizabeth Cutler has committed no crime, nor violated any regulation that merits a Court Martial, and she cannot be stripped of her rank without being convicted in that trial. The worst 'offence' she can be called 'guilty' of is forgetting to get a booster shot, and of wanting to keep her baby now that it's 'here'."

Forrest's tone was bitterly grim. "Jon, you misunderstand me. Miss Cutler is no longer an Ensign in this Service, and you are ordered to return this civilian to Earth. There will _be_ no Court Martial."

x

For many moments Jonathan Archer was too angry to respond. Finally he said, in a tightly controlled voice; "So that's Starfleet's solution to this: sweep it under the rug and Elizabeth Cutler along with it."

"Command is trying to defuse a tense situation. We've referred the matter to our Legal facilities who will pursue this matter in their own way, try to head off the damage Marin has done, but that won't really help Ms. Cutler. This affair has given the whole Service a black eye, and –."

"Admiral, with all due respect, you and I have had our shares of black eyes over the course of our careers; right now Cutler has two; and in this matter there are going to be a lot more of them. Neither of us has ever run from a fight. Command has to know that if they give in on this, there are just going to be more black eyes. From what I've heard, this could be just the start of a 'witch hunt' that could also take out my Chief Engineer, Armory Officer and one of his officers, my Communications Officer and Chaplain; and where does it end after that?" Forrest's silence was eloquent. "With me?" Forrest did not answer. "Say the word; you'll have my resignation on your desk in five minutes; because I would not want to be part of a Service that would do this."

"Do not act hastily, Jon."

"Hastily? This was on the _morning_ commentaries. What is 'hasty', Max?"

Forrest could not remember the last time Jon had called him by his Christian name. It had been a very long time. "What solution would you offer?"

"Give me twenty four hours."

Forrest shook his head. "The order is already given. You have until the present crisis is resolved – and I caution you not to draw it out."

"You know I would not do that." Archer said tightly, offended Forrest would even mention it.

"I know, Jon." He considered. "Contact me with a solution I can take to Command; or set course for Earth."

"Understood, Admiral."

The screen blanked out, the 'End Transmission' banner seeming a portent of the end.

x

Archer sat still for a long moment, trying to resist the headache that had risen with his blood pressure. This woman's smear campaign, now that it was begun, was based entirely upon innuendo, and Forrest had been right about its power. By twisting various reports and distorting the identities of the parties involved, she had raised a cloud of chaos that would have a devastating effect upon his crew. He hated to imagine what the families of his friends, seeing these reports and worse, must be suffering.

He, however, had less than two days to solve this problem, while abating a war that, unchecked, would result in the deaths of everyone on the world below them.

Reaching for his communications panel, he pushed a button while trying again to push back his growing headache. "Archer to Reverend McCabe."

"Good morning, Captain." The woman responded almost immediately with characteristic good cheer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He could almost 'hear' her smile.

"Would you please come … meet me in my Ready Room?" He tried to mask his feelings from his voice, but McCabe's shift in tone showed he had utterly failed.

"I'll be right there."

xx

It was actually about five minutes, minutes Archer used in trying to force quiet contemplation on the depths of their problems, before the soft signal at his door announced his visitor's presence. He did not answer, merely pushing the buttons that opened the outer and inner doors.

When McCabe entered his sanctum, she appeared no different than ever in her 'Clerical uniform', and something about her calm manner added a small dose of stability to the chaos. He was sorry to have to destroy it.

Reverend 'Mother' Patricia Marie McCabe was a young 40, though she often appeared younger, perhaps because of the air of placid calm she projected, so different from a Vulcan's restraint. Where Vulcans strove to be placid, mostly by hiding their emotions, she managed to give the impression that she actually was.

Unlike the other members of the crew, she had her own 'uniform'; black trousers and a royal blue shirt that buttoned up the back, leaving a smooth front. The shirt's collar was an inch high band of stiff white, and from a royal blue cloth collar that ended in a 'V' was suspended, at chest height, a combined cross consisting of a red Roman cross before which the 8 white points of a Maltese cross showed past the red; while at the junction of the red cross was a black Templar cross within which was depicted a red banner and a small gold rightward slanted cross.

She was a member of the Order of St. John, part of a pilot program by the U.E.S.P.A. to establish a 'Spiritual Presence' on long range Earth ships. That she was an experienced Psychologist was an added benefit; that she was the former fiancé of Lt. Malcolm Reed was an 'interesting development' that actually led to one of the problems he had called her here to discuss.

She had been aboard for some months, maintaining an 'office' on 'D' deck Starboard; Room 79, where she performed her combined duties. He'd met with her several times; socially in the Captain's Mess when first getting to know her, and professionally when she had to deal with members of his crew that needed her help. Frequently she was taciturn at such times, and he understood why. She was, properly, equally reticent about her dealings with Malcolm Reed as well, and he certainly was never willing to pry into any of that. Today, however, he had little choice.

He realized he was about to begin a conversation that he was truly going to hate.

x

"Please sit down." He invited, not bothering to mask the grimness of his tone. There was no point. This was not going to be pleasant for either of them.

She seated herself in one of the two formed cushioned chairs. She sat erect, her hands folded upon her lap, seeming more inwardly relaxed than she appeared. "What may I do for you, Captain?" She asked formally.

"I need your insight, and your counsel."

"Anything I can do."

"What do you know about the situation on Kitaris IV?"

She considered her answer carefully. "I've been working with Ensign Cutler, and I've read the report of Ensign Mayweather in so far as it would help in my 'consultations' with Elizabeth Cutler. Very little more."

He had to wonder if this was already too much. She read his expression. "About your negotiations and recent events, I know nothing."

"But you've been 'working' with Elizabeth Cutler. How many times have you seen her?"

"Twice. Once immediately after her discharge from Sick Bay, and then again this morning."

"How is she?"

McCabe hesitated. Everything they had discussed had been private, there was little that she could say to the woman's commander, who clearly wanted and needed a decent report. "She's recovering; better physically. The Doctor has done quite a bit, but she's still in pain. Her bruises will take some time to fade. But she is a determined woman. She fought to return to her duties, and to put all this behind her."

"Can she? Put it behind her, I mean."

McCabe took a deep breath, using the moment to frame her answer. "Captain, the assaults she suffered were brutal. I have to wonder if even _I_ could 'put it behind me'. Certainly not quickly. There is lingering anger, fear; she complains of nightmares. But getting her out of Sick Bay was the best move for her. Physically there is no reason she cannot perform her duties; psychologically she will take more time to recover." Her fingers when to the cross she wore. "The trauma will need time to heal; that's my job as well as Phlox's. But if you're asking if she's fit for duty, I'd say 'yes'."

"I'm asking about more than the physical. Phlox tells me she can return to duty, though he wants her to limit herself to half a shift for a day or so. I'm asking about her mental fitness, her … readiness to deal with the things that have happened to her and to face new challenges."

"Well, Captain, I'm not in favor of going _too_ easy on anyone in a recovery situation. Sometimes, when we're hurt, the best thing to do is to get back to our normal lives as quickly as possible."

"She turned a rifle on Travis Mayweather. Do you see her as a danger to herself, or to any of the crew?"

"No, Captain; absolutely not." McCabe declared definitely.

"So, you feel she is ready for full duty?"

"I think that's the best thing for her. Certainly it's what she's been fighting for."

"I agree. That's why I reinstated her over Phlox's advice; because I felt she could handle it. We need her at full strength; things are taking a very bad turn and I need to know she can return to duty. If you're sure…" He left it hanging.

"Yes, Captain. I'm sure."

x

"Good, because the situation down below is pretty grim." He left it unstated for a moment if he meant down on the planet or below decks. Actually he was referring to both. "Frankly, I'm not sure how much I will be able to do in the time allotted to me. Starfleet has allowed only forty eight more hours in this area before we have to be – elsewhere. Frankly, I welcome any advice I can get."

"I'll do what I can." She assured him.

"You and I have not had many conversations." He admitted. "My own fault, especially when I consider how intimately you're involved with my crew. I've always tried to keep personal lives separate from professional ones, not to 'pry', as it were. You've come to me with matters that affect the ship and the crew's performance, and up until recently you have been quite good about doing so, but now I need more."

"What more can I give?" She asked, thinking about 'privacy' issues, always a concern in her job. She also had not missed his qualifier 'up until recently'. She wondered where she had fallen short.

He decided not to dance about the issue. "I understand that, about three days ago, you were contacted by a representative of the U.E.S.P.A."

She nodded. "Very shortly after Shuttlepod Two was shot down, I received a subspace call from a Helen Marin from UESPA, calling me about 'concerns' she has about Elizabeth Cutler. Primarily those 'concerns' about her pregnancy masked her real concerns about the image of UESPA. She essentially wanted the fetus aborted or Ms. Cutler married immediately. I gave her an answer that the matter was under control, and to leave it in our hands."

"And you did not report this?"

"Captain, initially your concern was for your lost shipmates and friends, later for having some way of defusing this war going on beneath us. I'd intended to bring this matter, which I thought was a minor aggravation, to your attention when these major ones were resolved."

"Well, Reverend, while your concerns are appreciated, your timing was terrible. Had you brought this to my attention earlier, we might have anticipated and headed off what's happened."

It was now clear to McCabe that she had miscalculated badly. "Captain, I'm sorry. I thought Marin was, quite frankly, a 'blowhard' and told her essentially to mind her own business."

"Unfortunately, we've dealt with her before, and while she is indeed a 'blowhard', she is also a highly placed blowhard who does not take kindly to being told off – though Heaven knows she needs it. In the future, I expect you to come to me with any matters that might affect my crew, and to keep my counsel rather than your own."

"Yes, sir." McCabe replied, properly chastened. "What has she done?"

Archer reached for the monitor control. "I'll let her tell you for herself."

x

As the entire 'News' report was played back in its outrageous detail, he watched the woman's face drain of color, and even her strictest self control could not mask her horror and outrage. When the matter turned from the humiliating circumstances of Mary Tigat and her relationship with Kathy McMahon and the woman's betrayal that followed, culminating in Andrea Carstairs' attempted suicide to speculations of her own relationship with Malcolm Reed, McCabe's expression fell into one of outright shock, then to a mounting rage. Unfortunately, the video record had barely run half its course. In the interval that followed, Patricia had to call upon all of her discipline and self control to endure it without comment.

By the time the recording had reached the point at which Admiral Forrest had cut the feed, McCabe's face was as white as her collar. "Captain …" She breathed, horrified. "People can't –." She wanted to protest that no one could possibly be swayed by such innuendo and distortion, but she knew better.

"Starfleet tells me this is the most complimentary broadcast."

McCabe crossed herself, offering a desperate prayer. "All because I told this woman off?"

"No. We believe she would have issued these slanders regardless of the circumstances. The 'speculations' about you and Malcolm; and the innuendo about Father Pineda's suicide; are just icing on her cake."

"I can't believe this! How could she dare to say that _I_ was responsible for George's death?"

"Oh, she was very shrewd. She didn't say you did it, only that there is no _evidence_ that you did not. They say you can't prove a negative."

Patricia tried very hard to contain her outrage, clutching her cross until her hand hurt, praying fervently.

"Starfleet legal will deal with her slander, on all counts, but as for you and Malcolm…"

x

McCabe stood up sharply, pacing rapidly the limited space allotted to her in the small room before turning to him. "Captain, I –." She wanted to tell him that there was nothing illicit going on between them, but she could not. First, any 'assurances' would be a lie; and second, she had no idea just what information Kathy McMahon had released prior to her transfer. She was spared from saying anything by Archer's upraised hand.

"Reverend, your relationship with Malcolm predates anything having to do with Starfleet or your Order, and as far as I'm concerned I have no business knowing any of it. I don't _want_ to know. That is between the two of you, and your Order should _it_ become concerned."

"Captain, Celibacy is not one of our Vows, though discretion is expected and I have been discreet. But as you say, this goes back nearly thirty years. I've been completely honest and forthright with Archbishop Matthews. I'm not worried about anything my Order would do, but this woman clearly intends to crucify me – and do _worse_ to Elizabeth Cutler."

Archer did not need to point out that, while her Order did not forbid positive relations, there could be public consequences that would come back to hurt her. She knew this and could take action on her own, but in the meantime she was correct that the focus had to be Liz Cutler and her pending removal from Enterprise.

"Unfortunately, she has already done worse. Starfleet has decided to make an example of Ms. Cutler for the good of the Service. She's been stripped of her rank and discharged from the Service. I've been ordered to put her off the ship when we return to Earth." The woman was even more appalled. "We're to set course for Earth immediately after resolving this matter on Kitaris IV, or within forty eight hours."

"But I thought that an Officer could only be stripped …" She caught his answer in his eyes. She sat down again, feeling all the sensations fall from her body as the universe she thought she knew, the fair one, dropped out from under her. "They're not _going_ to Court Martial her."

"No, they're not. Starfleet has rendered its 'verdict', passed sentence and executed its justice. She's already lost her rank and position."

"Have you told her?" McCabe asked, appalled and outraged, doing her best to hide both.

"Not yet." He was not looking forward to that. The last time he'd spoken to Cutler, he'd told her he would support her and, if necessary, he would resign as well before he'd let her be swept under the rug. He still intended to stand by that decision. As he'd said, and meant it, he would not want to be part of an organization that would treat its members so shamefully.

x

McCabe leaned forward, saying intently. "Give me an hour."

Archer's smile held a touch of wry irony. "I asked for twenty four."

"Well, Captain," she answered, taking hold of the cross upon her chest, "I have a higher authority to consult."

He was impressed by her confidence. The woman did not think she could find a solution in an hour, she really believed it. He wanted to believe she could accomplish what she clearly showed she had Faith in.

His answer, however, was cut off by the voice emanating from his intercom. "Captain?" Hoshi called.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"I have 'General' Tulariq of Mintarle colony. She wishes to speak to you."

Archer was out from behind his desk immediately. A call like this he was not going to delay. McCabe kept out of his way as he headed for the door, but he turned back to her.

"One hour, Reverend."


	10. Caucus

Chapter Ten

Caucus

When Archer stepped onto the Bridge followed by Reverend McCabe, who crossed directly to the turbolift door with only a brief but meaningful glance to Malcolm Reed, he was feeling hopeful. For the first time in this long, tense situation, someone from the planet was contacting _them_. He held it as a good sign.

When he took a position in front of his command chair, he nodded briefly to Hoshi. On the screen before him then appeared the elderly face of Soursan, or 'General' Tulariq. "Captain Archer?"

"General Tulariq."

"Captain, I have consulted with my counterparts at the other colonies, and have convinced only two, Major Nitxe of Sunarle colony and Colonel Guerah of Tuvar colony to meet with you."

"Thank you."

"Do not be too hopeful. It took a lot of work to convince them, but ultimately they're willing to listen. Doctor Alvarku's report of your treatment of Corporal Korvakai went a long way toward convincing them to at least do that much."

"They are two more than we had yesterday. When can we meet?"

"As I understand your measurements from Commander T'Pol, in two of your hours. The finding of a place was the biggest problem."

"If you wish, I can offer the 'Enterprise' as neutral ground."

Tulariq shook her head reprovingly. "I told you 'do not be too hopeful'. It is only a limited measure of trust I have in your word, but they have none. The only reason Guerah is willing to speak to you is that Korvakai comes from Tuvaria. He, however, wishes to speak to Korvakai first."

"I can arrange that."

"He insists the conversation be private and unmonitored; that your Universal Translator, which I perceive is assisting this conversation, not be activated; and that he communicate visually with her."

"I'm sure Dr. Alvarku has explained the environment she is in, and her condition. We can feed the signal through into the Decon chamber with no trouble, and she can communicate with him privately. No one else will be able to hear or see the communication."

"That will be satisfactory. Or, if not, I can make it so." She gave a small smile. "He is, after all, only a Colonel."

"I understand."

"The negotiations with us will be somewhat more complicated. You are to come here by your transportation device, with only a communications device. For your peace of mind, I have negotiated for one bodyguard – I doubt they would respect you otherwise if you did not demand this – but I strongly suggest for his sake that he not be armed."

Archer glanced briefly over his shoulder, receiving a confident nod from Reed. "I shall bring my Armory Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed."

Tulariq looked directly at Reed. "We'll try to refrain from damaging you too much, Lieutenant."

Archer tried to catch the looks that passed between them, but concluded it was something only another soldier would truly understand.

"Captain, we will signal you again with all is in readiness."

"Until then, General." The screen returned to an image of the planet and the 'rising' stars as they held geosynchronous orbit above it. "Well," Archer said, looking back at Malcolm. "Looks like things are picking up."

"I hope so, sir."

xxx

Two hours later Archer and Reed were waiting with Tucker at the rounded transporter alcove when the intercom activated. "Bridge to Transporter." T'Pol said.

"Go ahead."

"We have the coordinates for transport. There are nine biosigns present, we may estimate six of them to be soldiers." There was a cautious reserve in her tone.

"No problem, Commander." At Tucker's brief nod, they entered the alcove. "Mind the store, Trip."

"Dampris mitalizu."

"What?" Malcolm asked with a surprised grin.

"That's Auran for 'good luck'."

"Are you taking up Auran now?"

"Daai." He replied with a satisfied grin. Reed and Archer exchanged glances, Archer shrugged.

"Keep it up."

Their bodies dissolved in a field of scintillating white light.

xx

They materialized in a stone walled chamber with six rifles pointed at them, rifles they pointedly ignored while facing the three most ornately uniformed soldiers, one of them being Tulariq. They brought their closed fists to the center of their chests, knuckles flat to their bodies, in the manner T'Pol had related in her report after her visit. The three, carefully restraining any measure of surprise, returned the gesture. When they returned their hands to their sides, Archer and Reed did the same.

The surrounding soldiers wore green uniforms with indecipherable insignias of rank and other distinctions. In addition to wicked looking side arms, each soldier wore a long blade with a black hilt in a sheath near the gun. Between these and the deadly rifles nine of them kept trained on the team, the Enterprise officers felt distinctly under armed.

"Captain Archer, Lieutenant Reed of Enterprise;" Tulariq said formally, her tone showing that the gesture was appreciated, "I present Colonel Sakierui Guerah of Tuvar colony and Major Tilvan Nitxe of Sunarle colony."

Guerah was of an age with Tulariq and Doctor Alvarku, not entirely surprising. He was a square faced man whose features seemed chiseled into a hard scowl, but Archer knew better than to judge quickly. He'd run into his share of soldiers who strove for a fierce expression, at least at first. His green uniform was heavy with decorations, all no doubt having been awarded in the past four years.

Nitxe, on the other hand, was a surprise. She was a fresh faced young woman whose jet black hair was at odds with the gray of her counterparts, and if she was over twenty it was by no more than a day. Unlike the others, the green uniform she wore was quite obviously their version of a 'dress' uniform, and Malcolm suspected he might slice a finger on the crease of her pants. She wore three medals, by far the least, but they and her epaulets of rank nearly gleamed even in the subdued light.

Upon her forehead was a small red diamond shape that seemed tattooed into her flesh. It was less than a centimeter high and barely a third across. It was, however, the first indication of personal adornment they had seen on any Bethesnan. There was, however, too little time to wonder if it had any significance, personal or otherwise.

"General Tulariq, Colonel Guerah, Major Nitxe, we thank you for agreeing to meet with us." Archer said, careful to give each of them exactly the same respect and regard. He did not know how well the UT was translating their ranks, and wanted there to be no slights among any of them.

"The meeting is our honor." Tulariq said formally. "We are willing to listen to your offer of friendship and negotiation." She allowed nothing more publicly, but she did signal the nine surrounding soldiers to lower their steady rifles.

Reed had already noted that the soldiers, all apparently of the same unstated rank if judging by the marks on their uniforms, bore insignia on their left sleeves which matched those of the officers by an even three to one. He did not miss that those who followed General Tulariq lowered their weapons on command, as did those whose patches matched Major Nitxe, while those 'belonging' to Colonel Guerah were a full second 'slower', moving only when getting a silent eye signal from the Colonel.

Reed knew he was going to have to watch this Colonel – and his men.

x

"This 'meeting' is a _farce_." Guerah declared sharply. "I do not trust you or your words."

"Nevertheless, you are here." Tulariq pointed out.

"I am here because my Corporal Korvakai convinced me I should listen," he said firmly to his nominal 'superior', "but I do not trust you." Then he turned to Archer. "And I certainly do not trust _you_! We have had painful consequences of our 'trust' in others."

Archer was not unduly worried. He'd worked around the mistrust of others before, did not consider it a true impediment to ultimately reaching an accord, and said so to the Colonel.

"Nonetheless, the only reason I am here is to demand the return of my officer."

"If you wish, she will be returned to you without delay. Doctor Alvarku has seen her and is confident that he can treat her wounds."

"We have our own Doctors. I hardly need the 'advice' of a Mintarlen."

This surprised Archer, but he rallied smoothly. "I assure you I meant no disrespect. I'm sure your staff is equally proficient." This was going to be trickier than he'd expected.

"Then if there is nothing more…" He turned to leave.

"There is plenty more." Tulariq said sharply. "You agreed to hear what the humans had to say."

"I agreed to listen to them talk. That is very different."

"I, however, do want to hear them, so you will stay!"

"I too wish to hear their proposal." Nitxe declared.

Guerah turned on her. "I am not concerned about the interests of a jumped up Lieutenant."

Nitxe whirled on the man, putting herself almost chest to chest with the taller officer. "If you want to try me or try for my command, make your move!"

"KASHTASX!" The UT did not render Tulaliq's booming command – there was no need for it to. Both officers stepped back a single pace, though the air between them remained charged. Tulariq turned to Archer and Reed, trying to mask the embarrassment she felt. "You see what we're up against, when we cannot even agree among ourselves."

x

Both the Enterprise officers found themselves almost feeling sorry for the General. Anyplace else, her rank would be sufficient to maintain order – at least in front of visitors. It was obvious that Guerah and Nitxe had a history, and not a pleasant one. How could they hope for an accord among eleven colonies, when three nominal allies could not even manage as many minutes together?

It was perfectly clear that 'rank' was more an internal concern, and that hierarchy within a colony was more significant than military 'standing'. T'Pol had made it clear that there were no actual 'professional soldiers' on the planet. These were people with other careers and backgrounds forced into a situation of having to fight an internecine war of attrition. Reed wondered what circumstances had forced a 'jumped up Lieutenant' into the role of Major, and figured it would be a good idea to find out – discreetly. She seemed at least to be the second most favorable party to the discussion they planned.

Archer resolved it would be far better to forget nominal 'ranks', and to treat these three as the 'presidents' of their colonies; at least until they were determined to be otherwise.

"If we may, we would like to present the results of our examination of your world, and our proposal." Archer offered. He watched their reactions. They were hearing his words in their native language, a frequently disconcerting thing for those unfamiliar with the Universal Translator, while he heard them in English. It was something that could be gotten used to better if one ignored such things as lip movement.

"Please proceed." Tulariq said before anyone else could speak. She had experienced the effect, knew what to expect, and was able to adjust faster to the strangeness. "My office is this way."

xx

The 'office', a carved out portion of the tremendous maze of tunnels and huge caves, equipped with heating units and lights which were still dimmer than the human norm, a desk and several chairs, was by no means large enough for fourteen people. It barely accommodated five comfortably, it had certainly been set up for no more, so the nine soldiers had to remain out in the corridor; something that Guerah did not like but which Nitxe accepted as a matter of physics. The Major seemed about to wait until she was seated by her 'nominal superior' but Guerah did not delay in seating himself in one of the five chairs, so she did not stand on ceremony either. Malcolm could read in her expression that she would have, however; though she moved to avoid losing face.

Tulariq let the slight pass, communicating with her expression that it was an equal affront both militarily and socially. Archer and Reed, the last to be seated, tried not to feel that they were negotiating inside a warp engine.

x

Tilvan Nitxe, informed of the importance of this meeting, had chosen to wear her to this point unworn but 'updated' dress uniform. She felt out of place and overdressed in this company, but was not about to back down in any way.

Of all the people she did not want to meet here, Sakierui Guerah was highest on her list. Sunarle and Tuvar were 'neighbors' if hundreds of claiqs distance could be counted as a 'neighborhood', and had made it clear that; after Sunarle's recent serious setbacks; he should be in command of both colonies.

By the time she had had her first 'face to face' encounter with the aging warhorse, she had decided that capitulation, which he had insisted upon, would never be an option.

x

Archer took particular note of the room. It was squared off, a measure of detail that rendered it a 'room' rather than a cave. He recalled Travis' description of the Drailen shelter. Less effort had been put into the surroundings that were used as home for an untold but large number of people.

Rather than being an austere one, this office's Spartan nature was offset by several large paintings hanging from the walls. All of them were landscapes, and to his eye were outstanding works of art. He recalled that their 'hostess' was an artist, who had come to this world to capture of beauties of the vistas that Kitaris IV offered, to show to the people left behind on Bethesna.

From the many scans Enterprise had taken of the planet, the rocky, nearly blighted landscape above their heads did not resemble these paintings at all.

x

"Captain, what is your proposal?"

"General, my 'proposal' is basic. Our analysis of this planet indicates that the areas surrounding each of your colonies are unable to provide the sustenance required for your population. Further, the losses of your population due to constant battles and the cessation of immigrants from your home world are rapidly destroying your civilization. Simply as a matter of health, living a troglodyte existence you are forced to in order to survive attack is not conducive to survival. Our projections show that your race, on its present course, will not survive for more than four years."

"Tell us something we don't already know." Guerah grumbled.

"All right. The world I represent, Earth, is concerned and wishes to do what it may to help. As a neutral third party interested only in peace, we offer our services in negotiations between the Manaxians and the Drailens."

"Why?"

"Our 'moral code' does not permit us to _not_ help you." He knew he was taking a big chance with this all encompassing line, but hoped they would read the sincerity behind it.

"What do you get out of it?" He demanded.

"Stabilizing your civilization would be the first step in establishing peaceful relations with you, which is one of Starfleet's primary goals with other worlds."

"Sorry, I don't believe you. What do you really want? Win our trust and then take our planet?"

Archer shrugged dismissively. "If that were the case, all we'd have to do is wait four years." To that there could be no reply.

"Do you really believe," Nitxe asked, "that you can bring four Drailen colony commanders to a peace table?"

"We've done the same in the past, with others even more disparate than yourselves. You are still all of the same race."

"We are not of the same race as Manaxian butchers!" Guerah declared hotly, leaning forward in challenge.

"Forgive me, I should say you all hail from the same planet."

On that point as well even Guerah could find no argument.

x

"Assuming we let you do what you say," Nitxe asked speculatively, "what do you plan to do once you have eleven of us at your table? Dictate a cease fire?"

"No." He told her definitely. "We're not here to impose a cease fire. That, as you know, is no peace. But as I understand it, it is a nationalist factor that led to your fighting here. Your nations are at war on your world, so fighting broke out here."

"They may well still be at war, we have no idea."

"What?" Reed could not restrain himself from interjecting.

"Our communications with Bethesna had always been spotty at best; they are so far away." Tulariq explained. "But the last of our long range communications were destroyed some months ago, and the area it stood in was always too dangerous to make repairs. So far as we know, they may well be fighting, or they may have reached a settlement. We do not know."

"Besides, it doesn't make any difference." Nitxe pointed out. "I can't tell you when it happened, but the war long ago ceased to be over land, or Bethesna or here. There has always been racial hatred and distrust among our peoples. Now it's a simpler issue – death to the Drailen."

"While their credo is 'death to the Manaxians'." Tulariq concluded.

"Well, I for one have no problem exterminating all the Drailen kiztrax. They should never have been allowed to come here." Guerah declared feelingly.

Archer looked to Tulariq behind her desk, who shook her head with equal feeling. Unfortunately, hers was regret.

x

"So!" Archer declared, having made his pitch and knowing no more words would help. "What do you say to our proposal?"

"Mintarle says 'yes'." Tulariq declared.

"Tuvar says 'No', and demands the swift return of our soldier."

Nitxe stood up. "Sunarle will see your ship."

"Are you _insane_, girl?" Guerah demanded.

"I am not. Sunarle withholds its vote until I judge for _myself_ the truth of these declarations." She turned to Archer, challengingly. "Unless your Starfleet objects to my seeing your vessel for myself?"

"No objection at all. You and your guards are welcome aboard Enterprise."

Tulariq stood as well. "Sunarle colony holds the deciding vote." She explained. "If this caucus votes 'yes', the matter can go to the other Manaxian colonies. If she says 'no', the issue dies here."

"I do not trust you either, human." Nitxe assured him. "I will see the truth of your words for myself. We have been betrayed before. Before I agree to lead my people down this path, I will see where it leads."

"As I said, you are welcome aboard Enterprise."

She stepped closer, looking into his eyes, staring intently for many long moments, and then many more. Finally: "My soldiers will remain here." She looked at Tulariq. "You can accommodate them, I'm sure." Tulariq nodded. Losses had been so severe that there was hardly a shortage of space.

"You _are_ out of your mind, _Lieutenant_."

She again locked eyes with Archer, but spoke to the man behind her. "That's _Major_, and I caution you to remember it! And I have no doubt of my safety. If they intended to harm me, they may as well not have come at all to make their proposal." Though her eyes did not move, she now addressed Archer. "I accept your 'invitation'. I trust your ship can take us from here?"

"No problem."

She turned to Tulariq. "Sunarle will vote when I return. Until then." She saluted her superior.


	11. Soul Seer

Chapter Eleven

Soul Seer

Archer, Reed and Nitxe materialized on the transporter platform, finding Ensign Paul Laverne from Engineering at the controls. "Welcome back Captain, Lieutenant."

"Thank you. This is Major Nitxe; she'll be staying aboard for a short time."

"Ma'am." Laverne turned his attention to Archer. "Doctor Phlox wanted you to know that he has succeeded in developing that immunity serum he'd discussed with you, and has already given it to the patient. She should be fit to see visitors in about half an hour more."

"Thank you." This was, at least, one bit of good news in a grim quagmire. Apparently they will have been able to do something for the woman before she was returned to her colony. "You can get on with your duties."

"Thank you, sir." The man completed shutting down the transported control, and then walked away to his right.

"Major," Archer said invitingly, "would you care to start the tour with our bridge?"

"I would. Thank you." They started down the opposite corridor, Nitxe's eyes taking in everything, every detail of the ship with a sharp attention to details. In that moment, as they started down the corridor, Archer and Reed had their own time to assess their guest.

She was indeed young, far younger than any Bethesnan officer they had encountered. She had long brown hair pulled back into a pony tail, emerald green eyes and lips that could only be described as 'sensuous'. Her figure was trim and svelte, and she carried herself with a strictly erect carriage that was clearly more effort than normal gait. She wore the green one-piece uniform, itself of a finer material than any of the other officers and soldiers wore, likely their version of 'dress uniform', as though it had been pressed into her. Her skin had that same light gray pallor they were now starting to assume was the norm for this species.

She seemed, to Archer's eyes, far too young for the role she seemed thrust into, as though she would be more suited to … he was not sure what, but a soldier's life was not his first choice.

x

"I suppose," she began, "I should explain what that 'jumped up Lieutenant' business was all about." She offered. Archer did not reply immediately, not wanting to seem too curious about what had been obvious was a sensitive subject. However, he had been curious. The behavior of Colonel Guerah was extraordinary, to say the least.

"Guerah was right, in a way. Up until two months ago I _was_ a Lieutenant, the company Clerk of my colony's armed forces under Major Levanar; that is, until a heavy bombardment rocket attack breached our defenses."

She stopped walking, looking up at the taller man, her voice carefully balanced, relating a harsh memory with constrained emotions. "We lost … lost much of our colony, _thousands_ of casualties, including Major Levanar." She fought to hide her feelings, baring them only that much more for her effort. "When we picked up the pieces, dug out what survivors we could and assessed our losses, there was no one higher ranked than I was. As his Aide, I knew all of Levanar's secrets, and even things he did not know. I also knew the filing system." She concluded with a wry smile. "I assumed command, assumed the rank of 'Major', and tried to keep what was left of Sunarle together."

"How badly were you hit?" Reed was unable to keep from asking. Nitxe turned to him, meeting his eyes. Her carefully level tones could not hide a terrible pain.

"The bombardment caved in over half our living space. Rockfalls buried hundreds of people; our 'civilian' residences." She took a deep, 'calming' breath that utterly failed. "There are 842 of us left." She turned to Archer. "So, you can see why I am very hopeful that you are going to turn out to be good to your word."

"I hope to convince you that I am."

"Are you, Captain?" Nitxe asked intently; her eyes locked so tightly on Archer's that they seemed to bore into him. "Have you told us the truth, or do you intend to take advantage of our weakness and conquer us?"

"I have told you everything." He assured her, uncomfortable with the intensity of her stare. She held the intense lock for several more seconds before admitting;

"I wish I could know if I believe you."

"That _is_ why you're here, Major." He pointed out, unwilling to be the first to break the contact but wishing that he could. The unblinking stare of her emerald eyes was making him quite uncomfortable. It was as though she was trying to see into his soul, and he was not sure he liked the search.

Finally, after several more seconds, she broke the contact, taking a step back.

"I suppose it is. I just wish I had more."

He was surprised by the almost defeated tone. "What more do you want?" She met his eyes again, but this time with far less intensity.

"To know, Captain. To know."

x

They resumed their journey, reaching a turboshaft at the end of one corridor, stepping in and the lift started to ascend. "How large is this vessel?"

"Seven decks, designated 'A' through 'G'. I can show you a representation when we reach the bridge." A few seconds later, the door slid aside to reveal that sanctum. As the three stepped out of the car, Nitxe's gaze seemed to take in every detail in seconds. In those seconds, Hoshi spoke to Archer. "Captain, I have Colonel Guerah on 1; he insists again upon speaking to Corporal Korvakai."

"Undoubtedly to tell her she's being transferred to the surface. Same as before; let's leave them some privacy."

"Aye, sir." She returned her attention to her board, putting the message through.

"Captain, who is it that went down to speak to General Tulariq earlier?"

"My First Officer, Commander T'Pol." Archer introduced the Vulcan. Nitxe appraised her carefully.

"I was told that you were considerably different from the others. Where are you from?"

"I'm from the planet Vulcan, in what is known as the 40 Eridani system, as the humans designate locations."

"Yes, I understand you even have a different name for Mandar."

"We call it 'Kitaris IV'."

"And Bethesna, what do you call that?" There was a hopeful tone in Nitxe's voice that was completely lacking in T'Pol's response.

"Normally, whenever possible, the designation of a planet is adapted to that of the natives of that world, and our records are corrected accordingly. However, we have no listing of Bethesna in our database."

"You've never been there?" She asked, disappointed and trying not to show it. It would have been good to have some word of home.

"Not that I am aware. We receive regular updates from other worlds and ships; apparently no one has yet encountered your world."

"Pity. I should like to know how it is faring."

"If you give me the coordinates, I will try to ascertain what records we have on it."

Nitxe hesitated. "Unfortunately, I don't know its exact 'coordinates', certainly not in your measuring protocols. It's the third planet of the Kaar'naq system."

T'Pol shook her head. "I'm sorry. Perhaps if I had access to your records."

"I'll make them available."

"Hoshi," Archer attracted the woman's attention, "would you make contact with the Sunarle colony?"

"Aye, sir."

It took only a few minutes for Nitxe to speak with her associates, and to direct them to call up the necessary data and transmit it to Enterprise. T'Pol assured them that she would report as soon as she had concrete information.

"In the meantime, would you like to continue the tour?"

"Thank you, Captain."

x

In the turbolift, Nitxe held herself even more erectly, her attention focused. "Captain, I have never had occasion to meet this closely with so many aliens – non-Bethesnans, I should say. It's rather disconcerting."

"We've been out here for about two years so far, and have met quite a few, but it is an experience we treasure. Our purpose out here is to locate, and establish peaceful relations with, as many new races as we can. We would welcome the opportunity to establish the same with your people."

"Are your missions successful?"

"Much of the time. Often, we encounter interesting … challenges."

"Life itself is an interesting challenge." Nitxe observed. "Certainly, when I came to Mandar, I never expected to be in a uniform, leading the fight against my fellow Bethesnans."

The lift stopped and they got off on 'E' deck, the largest of the 7 decks.

"What did you do before?" Reed asked.

She touched the red diamond shape tattooed onto her forehead. "I am what is known as a 'Soul Seer'." She explained. "It's something of a rare talent at home – and I getting rarer all the time, I fear. I have the ability to see into a person, to judge their feelings, their 'sincerity', to gauge the kind of person they are; if they are trustworthy, if they are being honest or not."

"I couldn't help but notice how intently you were 'examining' me." Archer observed, understanding her earlier intensity.

"Usually it is an effortless thing; with you I have to work _very_ hard, and even then I cannot be sure." She gave a wry smile. "It's rather disconcerting; almost like being partially blindfolded. I can see, but not clearly, and I can't be sure of what I _am_ seeing."

Archer thought it would not be a good idea at the moment to mention just how much he disliked the idea of mental probes. If the woman's 'yea' vote was dependant upon what she 'read' from them, he could stand it for a while.

x

"Many 'Soul Seers' go on to become 'Soul Guides'. I'd come to Mandar at the age of fifteen to apprentice to a Soul Guide named Kaltier. It was supposed to last two years, but I had only four months and I've been here ever since."

"What happened?" Reed asked. The surface answer was obvious; but he was referring to her training.

For a moment, Nitxe's eyes clouded as they cast back, watching a scene that to this day caused sharp pain. "The day should have been like every other, but in the middle of the afternoon bombs started exploding all around us. None of us realized they were coming from the Drailen colony Duprasna, only a hundred nine claiqs away. None of us understood what was happening; we just started running, screaming, explosions going on all around us. We ran in every direction, wildly, having no idea where to go or what to do.

"Kaltier tried to keep order, direct us to the caves less than a claiq away. Soul Guides are well respected, people listened to his direction. He got those who could hear him over the explosions and the screaming and the crying moving in the right direction – until a bomb fell almost at his feet."

x

She broke off suddenly, having reached the limit of her pain. It was several moments before she could continue. "I never saw him after that – and then we were huddling deep in the caves under the ground, trying to understand what was happening to us. And I was a sixteen year old …" She broke off, the words momentarily too painful. "Anyway, I was a sixteen year old Apprentice, _scared_ out of my mind, having no idea what had happened and desperately wanting my mother, who was back on Bethesna.

"I didn't realize back then that the nightmare was just beginning, and that it would never end.

"In time we sorted out what happened to us and hit back. Without a Guide, I wound up in the hastily assembled and poorly armed military, working my way up to Adjunct to Major Levanar, who had been a Chef, assisting with our defense."

Nitxe's manner grew even sadder. But she could not halt her narrative. Once begun, it had to be shared, even if it would not ease the pain.

"Then, two months ago, a concentrated attack broke through our defenses and caved in the majority of our catacombs. Over two -." Her voice broke and she forced herself to stop, fighting a flare of painful emotion. It took a few seconds before she could continue in a tight, controlled voice, and both men could see what it cost her to retain such iron control. "Over two thousand people were crushed in a matter of seconds. Suddenly I'm in Command and now walking your ship wondering if I can trust you.

"My talents are limited as it is – I doubt I'll ever complete the training to become a 'Soul Guide' – assuming I live through the month." She breathed deeply, trying again to hide her emotions, to hide a pain that could never be hidden. "Our defenses are weakened, our supplies are limited to what escaped the cave-in, food and water are at a premium, and there are 842 of us to keep what's left of Sunarle going." She spoke very carefully, grief tearing at her control, and they pointedly did not notice. Both men wondered how many friends, how many family, had been snuffed out in those terrible seconds, and decided they did not want to imagine sharing such an experience.

"I was able to get here in a small mercenary ship, but our resources there are just as limited, and insufficient for a reasonable evacuation. I have to consider the unpleasant alternative of _surrender_ to Duprasna, which might be worse than being annihilated."

"I'm hoping we can offer you all a better alternative." Archer said when they stopped before a large set of double doors, much of the portal clear transparent aluminum, etched with a stylized emblem. He pushed a button to open the doors.

It was obvious that, though she had to be reticent, she could be glad for any other alternative.

x

When the trio stepped into Sick Bay, Nitxe glanced about quickly, taking in an initial view of the entire room, to which she would add detail in further examination. To her left were two women; one standing, wearing a blue uniform, though the piping on the material was blue rather than the Captain's yellow or Security Chief's red. The other woman was lying before her on a rolling bed. Both turned to her. The reclining woman lay under a light blue blanket, and her skin and hair were golden. The other woman was shorter than Nitxe, with short light brown hair flipped forward at the ends. Interestingly enough, the golden woman's gaze was merely curious and remained so; the other woman's was a hard glare that surprised Nitxe in its intensity. The woman's face was bruised, both eyes blackened, two patches of white gauze covering worse damage.

"Major?" Archer regained her attention. Standing next to the Captain, when she looked ahead, was an utterly astonishing individual.

While Nitxe's experience with aliens was quite limited to those species that made themselves available to fight for what resources and wealth they could obtain – and thus Sunarle's access to foreign 'allies' was now considerably limited – not one of them had been a Denobulan.

Nitxe, her surprise coming sharply, found herself reaching out with her own personal talents even before thinking of it, and her surprise increased markedly. This individual she could read almost as well as her own people.

So astonished was she that she missed the point at which they had been introduced and the 'man' started speaking to her, forcing him to backtrack when she got herself under control. "I was saying I'm pleased to meet you, and hope that we can work together toward establishing a 'cease fire' on your world."

"You are the Physician?" She asked, pulling herself together, annoyed with herself at her slip and doing her best not to show it.

"Yes I am." He confirmed with an impressively wide smile.

"I'd like to thank you, on behalf of our people, for your help with Corporal Korvakai." She said; becoming aware, even as she spoke, of another sensation impinging itself upon her consciousness. But what was it?

"No problem. I've recently provided her with a synthetic antigen which, I am confident, will boost her immunity so that we may begin treating her properly."

"I'm afraid not." Archer put in. As he spoke, Nitxe became aware that the sensation that intruded upon her was becoming clearer, sharper, better defined. "Her commander has ordered her return. We'll be beaming her down as soon as she's stable enough to be moved."

"I see." Phlox's tone went flat. This was unexpected, and unwelcome, news; though he had to admit it wasn't completely surprising. He had anticipated it. He'd just hoped it would come after they had made some progress.

x

It was then that Nitxe felt the inchoate sensation crystallize, being unable to be mistaken any longer, in intensity or direction. She looked back over her shoulder. The woman standing by her fellow crewmember was staring at her, staring intently, and as Nitxe focused, the sensation resolved itself into a furious, burning outrage.

Stepping away from the surprised Denobulan and the equally taken aback human, she approached the furious woman, stopping on the other side of the biobed, feeling the force of the woman's emotions growing to an almost oppressive intensity.

"You're angry with me." Nitxe began, curious.

"Shouldn't I be?" The woman asked tightly.

"Is there a problem here, Ensign?" Archer asked, coming up beside Nitxe so they both stood on the opposite side of Tia's biobed from the angry woman.

"No, sir." The woman answered tightly, not reducing the intensity of her glare, but cautious not to do more.

Nitxe recalled the story that there were two injured crewmen from the starship. "You were the one who was captured by the Drailens?"

"That would be _us_." Cutler said tightly, pointedly including Tia in the count. Nitxe looked both of them over. The golden woman lay on the biobed looking up at her. There was no anger in her eyes, only curiosity. The other woman, however, was a conflagration of rage.

In an attempt to ease this rage, Nitxe adopted a conciliatory tone. "On behalf of all Bethesnans, I apologize for your suffering."

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, for the woman's anger flared to an incandescent level.

Cutler dared not bite her tongue to keep her silence, fearing she would bite it completely off in her fury. She thought of just what she would say about this woman's 'apology' if her Captain were not standing right in front of her. She did not dare say anything.

"Dismissed." Archer said curtly, determined to head off any conflict that would totally destroy a 'diplomatic' solution to their problem. Cutler started to turn, having to fight the stiffness her own fury assaulted her body with. She was grateful to get out of there before she told this bitch just what she thought of her and her entire race!

"Wait." The green clad woman said, stopping her. She turned to the Captain. "She obviously feels very strongly." Nitxe didn't even need her talents; the woman's fury were telegraphed to anyone who would look. "She was down among us, a captive of the Drails. I'd like to hear what she has to say."

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" She asked tightly, her voice totally without inflection. Archer considered it; he did not want to give in.

"I insist." Nitxe emphasized.

Caught between them, Archer decided to grant Cutler the chance to vent, and hoped she would exercise some professional discretion. "Go ahead."

"Freely?" Cutler asked again.

'So much for professional discretion.' He thought. The Major had asked for it. He nodded, very reluctantly. Cutler turned to look Nitxe square in the eye.

"You're a fragging _bastard_!"

x

"Am I?" Nitxe asked calmly, calling upon what training she had, trying to be a steady peace against the other woman's rage. The shorter woman was so angry it hurt Nitxe's head even when not trying for a link to her.

"You come up on this ship with your innocent manners and _apologize_, as if that makes all the difference. Look at us." She demanded. Nitxe inspected both women minutely, the golden blood going from one arm to a machine beyond the reclining woman's pillow, then another tube returning that blood to her other arm; the covered wounds and bruises on the irate woman's face, and the stiffness in her body hiding even more pains.

"One of my best friends is _dead_ because of you! He died because of _your_ _war_. Tia here was shot and left for dead; might well have died had she not _crawled_ on her stomach to the wreckage of our shuttle and managed to call for help. Your soldiers beat me half to death, and if my _baby_ were older they might have killed him too! They didn't have to kill John, they didn't have to beat and torture me and risk the life of my child. They didn't have to torture and rape and sodomize Alah Korvakai every day for months until she is half dead. You fragging _bastards_ and your war did this. I don't care if your side didn't do this – you're _all_ guilty! As far as I'm concerned you should all just blow yourselves to Hell and good riddance to all of you!"

"Do you hate us?"

"_Yes_. God damn you; I never thought I could possibly hate _anyone_, especially a whole species, but yes – I _hate_ you!"

"You've been hurt very badly by our people." Nitxe said, stepping slowly around the foot of Tia's biobed to approach Cutler. "I cannot undo what has happened to you." She stepped up close. "And you're right; there is no distinction whether Drailens or Manaxians did this to you. Bethesnans killed your friend, shot your friend, beat and injured you and risked your baby's life. Words alone cannot balance those scales."

From the sheath at her belt Nitxe drew a black handled knife, the gleaming blade over seven inches long, and they could see from the way it caught the lights in Sick Bay that its mirror surface was kept razor sharp. She reached out and took Cutler's hand, placing the knife in it, closing her fingers about the black hilt. "There is only one thing that can balance those scales."

She started to unbutton her green uniform at the level of her breasts, spreading it widely enough and drew the knife in the hand of the apprehensive woman to her own chest. She positioned the blade at a specific angle upward between her breasts. Straight in, past her ribs, the blade would pierce her heart.

"Your friend is dead, another wounded and in pain, you have been brutally tortured and the life of your child put at risk. This is the only balance for those offences."

Liz tried to pull back, but Nitxe would not let go. She forced Liz's hand, the sharp point dimpling her flesh between her breasts. Then, not letting Liz pull away, pressed harder, and a drop of dark red blood, darker than human's, seeped out. They struggled over the knife, Liz trying to pull back, their hands shaking from the effort, the sharp trembling point digging into Nitxe's flesh. The more Liz pulled back, the more tightly Nitxe gripped her hand in both of hers. "Strike straight and true, but quickly." She instructed, pressing harder, not hiding the pain from her voice. The thin trail of blood seeped faster, a rivulet running along the edge of the gleaming blade. Their struggles increased. "Your friends, you, your _baby_; take your _Revenge_. Now!"

With a loud cry, Liz yanked the blade back with all her strength, flinging it to the deck behind her where it landed with a loud ringing clatter. She stared in horror at the dark red blood flowing down the woman's chest from the wound she made no effort to cover.

Unable to endure it an longer, Liz turned and ran, slapping at the door control, and escaping as soon as the doors had parted enough for her to force her way through.

Nitxe turned to Archer even as Phlox came around the biobed with a sterile cloth to stop up the bleeding so he could treat her wound. "There is much anger in her." She said, trying to force the taint from her own mind, to regain her calm balance. "Much anger. But she does not hate. She mistakes fury for hatred, but it is not." She took a deep breath, wincing at the pain, and sighed. "I _know_ what hatred is, both from and for my own people." She shook her head sadly. "That woman does not _hate_. I know what hatred is."

x

"Bridge to Captain Archer." T'Pol's voice filtered out of the speaker near the Imaging Chamber. The Captain stepped over, touching a button as Nitxe stepped over and retrieved her knife from near the door, wiping the blood off it with a cloth from her pocket and returning it to its scabbard.

"Archer here."

"Captain, when you have a moment, I would like to see you in your Ready Room." He recognized the phrasing and inflection: whatever it was, it was important but not urgent.

"I'll be there shortly." He looked inquiringly at Nitxe.

"Captain, I am almost ready for my vote, but before then I wish to interview Corporal Korvakai." Archer glanced at Phlox, who extended his hand invitingly.

"This way to Decon."

xx

When Archer, Phlox and Nitxe arrived at Decon, they found Ensign Dina Samuels in the inner room with Korvakai. The patient lay on her cot so she could see the entraince simply by raising her head. Samuels was not wearing the EV suit she had had to don the previous times she had been in the room. When they entered, she straightened and faced Phlox. "Doctor, I've just completed my examination; the immunity series has been successfully integrated into her system."

He looked down at the woman. "I see you've also given her some lunch." There was an empty plate on the small table next to the reclining soldier, only a modified fork remaining upon it. The knife lay beside her near her right hip.

"A much better one." Korvakai said, her gaze turning then to her new friend. "Thank you." She did not mention to the new arrivals that she had insisted upon being able to cut and eat her own food. It was necessary practice if she was going to return to her colony untreated, or give herself over to her own doctors to do what they could for her smashed right hand.

"We can't send you away on an empty stomach." Dina replied with a smile.

This time, when the woman focused on her new visitors, taking in her countryman, it was with a gasp of distress. "You're a Tuunlier." She struggled to sit up. "I didn't _know_ you were a tuunlier."

x

Nitxe caught Archer's look. "A tuunlier is an Apprentice to a 'Soul Guide'." She explained, not knowing that, after doing so, all references to that word in the future would be heard in English as 'Apprentice Soul Guide'. She touched the red emblem gracing her forehead again. "One identified as a 'Soul Seer' is marked with a red triangle; an Apprentice to a 'Soul Guide' has it filled out to a diamond. A Kartoosh has one side of the diamond completed, the 'Soul Guide' ultimately winds up with a larger triangle." She left out that, if she did not find another mentor with whom to train, she would likely never rise beyond her current level. She stepped over to Korvakai, bending over beside her, next to the two intravenous machines. Korvakai would not meet her eyes.

"When Colonel Guerah told me an Officer from Sunarle was coming to this ship, I never _expected_ an Apprentice Soul Guide." She was very distressed, unable to look at Nitxe, turning her body further to her right, trying to avoid the younger Bethesnan's touch.

"Is this a problem?" Nitxe asked as mildly as she could. In all her experience, while she had known people uncomfortable with the perceptiveness of a Soul Seer, none of them had expressed it to this extent.

"_Yes_! I'm sorry." She looked back, still not meeting her eyes but focusing on the small red diamond emblazoned upon the Major's forehead. "I am so _sorry_!"

"For what?" Nitxe asked, trying to understand the older woman's distress so she could help. "For your condition?" The emaciated woman still bore far too many 'scars' of her captivity and the abuses inflicted upon her. "That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"No, not for _that_."

"Then what could you have to be ashamed of?"

Suddenly Korvakai twisted about, her left fist slamming into Nitxe's chest. The woman gasped at the searing pain, driven backward by incredible agony, and she stared in disbelief at the knife handle protruding from just above her right breast!

Staggering back, Nitxe found herself supported in the arms of the Enterprise Captain as she watched a stain of dark red blood spread over her uniform front. Unable to draw a breath against the searing pain, she felt her legs give out from under her as she collapsed, the tall man easing her to the deck.


	12. Eternal Darkness of the Soul

Chapter Twelve

Eternal Darkness of the Soul

Phlox was beside them in an instant, helping to ease Nitxe down, the shocked young woman gasping for breath, unable to take her eyes from the silver handled knife buried into her chest. The Denobulan pushed Archer out of the way when they got her on her back, working rapidly, pressing about the knife, keeping pressure to hold back the flow of blood. The blade had gone into the right side of her chest, just above her breast, and Nitxe's breath was coming in sharp wheezing gasps.

"Get on to the Bridge." He commanded Dina Samuels. "Have us transported directly to Sick Bay. Then find Cutler; I'll need you both."

As the woman hurried to the intercom in the outer room to relay the urgent messages; Archer stood, looking down at the last hope for this planet's peace. He stalked over the four feet to where Korvakai lay watching. "_Why_?" He demanded, frustration adding fire to his fury.

"Colonel Guerah ordered me to. I didn't know she was an Apprentice Soul Guide." She explained, vastly distressed and remorseful at what she had had to do. She watched Phlox's back, unable to see much of the gasping girl's body past his.

"_WHY_?" He demanded again, barely able to restrain himself.

Korvakai kept staring at the tableau before her, barely able to hear Dina Samuels' urgent words into the intercom on the wall. "She was going to prevent the peace. Guerah voted for peace talks, Tulariq against. She was going to break the deadlock in the General's favor and end the only chance we had for peace."

"You _IMBICILE_!" Archer exploded. He could not remember the last time he had been so angry. "_Guerah_ voted against the talks, Tulariq for them." He glanced back at Phlox working rapidly upon the wounded, gasping woman; then fixed Korvakai with his furious glare. "Nitxe was going to vote _for_ them."

He turned, the two of them seeing the bodies on the deck suffused by scintillating light, which carried them away. All that remained on the deck was the blood. He looked back at the shocked soldier, who recoiled from his words. "You have just ruined everything!"

x

In the outer room, Dina opened a new intercom circuit. "Decon to Cutler." The nanosecond the computer took to route the call to the intercom nearest to her associate seemed like an eternity.

"Dina?" The unit returned Cutler's voice. "I'm really not in the –."

"Report to _Surgery_ – stat!" She did not wait for a reply, slapping the circuit closed, then struck the button next to the door. She was through it and running down the corridor even before the door had fully opened.

Archer, left alone with the shocked soldier, stared down at her, fists clenched, body trembling in fury. Feeling unable to trust himself, he turned and stalked out of the unit, hitting the button that would close the door, leaving the woman behind.

xx

Elizabeth Cutler ran down the corridor to Sick Bay as quickly as she could, having to skid to a stop at the end of her mad dash to hit the button that would open the doors. 'There's gotta be a better way!' she thought before she slipped through the tight space when the doors had parted enough for her to fit.

Seeing Phlox across the large room busily working on a patient, his back to her blocking the view of whichever of her friends was injured, she did not hesitate, going to the supply draws on her left, pulling one open and yanking out a surgical smock, tugging it over her uniform as she crossed the room with rapid strides.

When she saw the Bethesnan Major Nitxe lying still upon the biobed, her face ashen, she froze for an instant. From the young woman's chest protruded the handle of a knife, an expanding stain of dark red blood staining her uniform. The last time she had seen the younger woman, the Bethesnan had been holding her own knife to her chest, hands gripping hers in an effort to force her to drive the deadly blade home.

Now one _was_ buried in her.

x

"Get this uniform out of the way." Phlox directed. Rather than tearing it open and risking jarring the blade, Cutler worked rapidly on the buttons of the uniform's top. The left side came away easily, Liz tugging to clear it away. It was fortunate that the gasping woman wore nothing below it. Taking a pair of scissors from the tray on her side, Liz cut the material from the buttons to the blade, and then pushed that half of the material aside, finally slicing the green uniform at her waist, clearing both sides completely, baring the girl from her waist up.

"Grab the knife." Phlox ordered, one hand maintaining pressure about the base of it, the other taking a molecular regenerator off his own tray. "When I tell you, draw it out while I seal the blood vessels."

The doors behind them opened again, and they heard rapid movements, the supply drawer again opening and the rustle of cloth even before the doors slid closed. Elizabeth reached up, both hands closing on the knife handle. "Now." He directed as the dark blue attired Dina Samuels joined them on Phlox's left.

Liz carefully and steadily drew the knife from the woman's chest. It was difficult to draw it cleanly against the pressure of the Denobulan's hand, but she did so without disturbing their patient, setting it on the tray, trying to ignore the dark blood that stained its blade. She could not fail to recognize it as one of their Mess Hall knives.

She wanted to know how it had gotten buried in the unconscious girl's chest, but that could wait. The last time she had seen this woman, they had been struggling over a knife, Nitxe pulling it inward, Liz fighting her. She had thought, she had really believed, that she would have gladly killed the Bethesnan, but when the time had come she could not. Now …

In the meantime Dina placed a breathing mask over Nitxe's face with one hand, adjusting the controls with her other. She added a sedative to the mix, but there was hardly a need. Nitxe had passed out. But whether it was from pain, shock or the inability to draw a breath, they could not tell.

"Vitals?" Phlox asked. Liz turned to the bio display, keying in controls that would call up Alah Korvalai's records as a base setting from which to compare Nitxe's. It was not the best comparison, Korvakai being injured as well, but it would have to do. Alvarku had given them some information, but not enough.

"Generally 82 percent of base line. The blade penetrated her right lung, I read 14 percent collapse, upper right quadrant. Blood pressure only 91 percent of base line, respiration to blood saturation ratio is at 86 percent – and falling."

The attack had done more damage, but Phlox would need the most urgent information first. Together, speaking only when necessary, the trio labored to save the young woman's life.

xx

Jonathan Archer stalked off the turbolift onto the bridge, projecting a tightly controlled fury that still washed over his officers like a tsunami. Laboring to keep it in check was taking all of his efforts. He crossed the bridge without slowing. "Hoshi, put Admiral Forrest on in my Ready Room and I don't care if you have to get him out of bed."

"Yes, Captain." The woman answered carefully, not wasting a second in fulfilling the order.

"Captain, may I see you a moment?" T'Pol asked before he could get the door fully open. Archer stopped and visibly forced his anger down to a manageable level. He did not turn, however, just waving her to follow and proceeding down the steps, leaving the door open.

The Captain of the Enterprise entered his private sanctum not really wanting company. He wanted, in fact, to throw something; but there was nothing readily at hand. He stood still, taking several deep breaths, trying to get his rage under control. When the door slid shut behind him, heralding his First Officer's silent arrival, he turned around. His greeting smile was grim and forced, but at least now he felt no urge to bite her.

Before he could say anything, however, he noticed a blinking light on his terminal. Pushing the button beside it, he read the few lines of text that appeared on the screen with the first real sense of pleasure he'd had in some hours. The message was from Patricia McCabe, and he saw it had not missed the hour deadline by very many minutes. He was especially gratified to see that her recommendation reflected his own decision.

He looked up at his waiting Science Officer. "Great minds think alike." He told her with some satisfaction.

T'Pol was glad that her Captain was in a better humor than he'd displayed when he had crossed the bridge. She found herself regretting that she had to spoil it.

xx

"There's no possibility of a mistake?" He asked the woman who stood before him.

"None." She declared definitely. He leaned back in his chair, no longer angry, no longer frustrated. He felt beyond anger, beyond everything. He tried his best to think of what he could do.

"Captain?" Hoshi Sato's voice came through his desk speaker. "I have Admiral Forrest on Channel 3."

T'Pol made a move to turn to the door. "Stay." He told her, reaching out for the control on his monitor. He had much to say to the man, and none of it was going to be pleasant.

On the screen appeared the image of the Admiral. He was in a robe, seated at what Archer recognized as the desk in the man's study at home. One look at the Enterprise Captain's face told him just how unpleasant a call this was going to be.

"Yes, Jon?" In short, terse sentences, Archer laid out a full report of everything that had happened since they last spoke, everything he had thought, and everything he had decided as the course he would follow. During it, he tried to hold onto his anger, not allowing it to show but using it to fuel his resolve. "Very well." Forrest said finally. "If you think that's the best way to proceed, then you have my support."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Short, terse and to the point. He reached out, turning off the monitor, his friend's image replaced by the 'End Transmission' banner. He touched another control.

"Hoshi, contact General Tulariq. I want to speak to her privately."

"Yes, sir."

xx

It was clear that 'privately' was to be a one-way issue, for Archer was on the bridge, in his command chair, when the image on the screen switched from the planet below them to the office of the Manaxian General. The elderly woman was seated behind her own desk, as he had first seen her seemingly so long ago. "Well, Captain." She greeted him with a smile. "How goes your 'mission'?"

"Not well, General. Acting under orders from Colonel Guerah, Corporal Korvakai has stabbed Major Nitxe. She's in surgery now."

He watched the devastating news have its effect on the old woman. She clearly called upon all her self control to keep from reacting visibly, but the words and the images he'd called up were so shocking, so portentous that she could not entirely disguise her distress.

"Will she survive?" She asked carefully, all too aware that more than the young woman's life hung in the balance.

"As I said, she's in surgery. We don't know her condition." He explained the motive behind Korvakai's attack.

"I will send Dr. Alvarku up there immediately."

"I'd like to invite you and your senior officers to come aboard as well."

Tulariq stood up, holding her body ramrod straight. "Captain, I fully intend to come up there – and to bring Colonel Guerah as well. If your allegations are true, he has committed _Treason_ and we shall deal with him accordingly."

xxx

A full hour passed before Jonathan Archer led a 'delegation' consisting of General Tulariq and four of her Senior Officers along with Colonel Guerah and six Mintarlen soldiers. Tulariq had made certain that no one bearing the uniform sleeve patch of Guerah's colony beamed aboard.

None of the men or women in the group were armed, save that Tulariq had demanded and been allowed to keep one sidearm. Everyone else, all unwillingly, had left their weapons on the planet below.

Phlox stood before the biobed upon which Major Nitxe lay still, the Bethesnan Doctor Alvarku standing on the far side. Nitxe's body had been covered up to her neck with a pale blue blanket, her uniform having been destroyed, the top half cut away. She still wore the lower half, but that was all. Elizabeth Cutler and Dina Samuels stood at the foot of the biobed.

Across the room, closer to the door in the recessed alcove, Tia Anlor silently watched the scene from her biobed.

Seated on a chair far to their left, near the Imaging Chamber, Corporal Alah Korvakai looked small before the Enterprise Security Guards that surrounded her on three sides.

Tulariq led her officers forward and faced Alvarku directly. "How is she?"

"She'll live, but she will need extended recovery time. The knife collapsed part of her lung, and if they hadn't gotten her treatment immediately she would have died."

Tulariq looked at Phlox. "Thank you." She said sincerely. Far more than the young woman's life hung in the balance, and all knew it.

She stalked toward Korvakai, stopping inches before her. "_Why_?" Korvakai stared up at her, too cowed by the woman's fury to answer. "Do you know what's at stake here?"

"I know." She answered dismally.

"Why did you do it?"

Korvakai's eyes shifted to Guerah, wanting leave from her commander to answer the enraged General. Tulariq drew her gun from the holster at her hip and pressed it firmly to the younger woman's forehead, pressing to force her to look up. Samuels made a move to step in, but Archer signaled her to hold her place. "You will _answer_ my question _now_."

Looking up at the old woman, trying to site past the gun pressed hard to her forehead, she met her eyes and knew Tulariq would fire. "Colonel Guerah ordered me to kill Major Nitxe. He said she was the deciding vote in the caucus. He had voted in favor of the Enterprise Captain's proposal, you opposed it. Nitxe would also vote 'no'. I didn't know it was the other way around until Archer told me. I didn't even know she was a Soul Guide Apprentice."

Tulariq lowered her weapon, disgusted. "If I had not seen my full sad measure of death in this war I would kill you for that alone. But our Soul Guide would not approve." She admitted with heavy irony, then turned about to face Guerah, who stood in the midst of surrounding officers and soldiers. "Colonel Guerah, you stand accused of Treason. How say you, Guilty or Not Guilty?"

"_Not_ Guilty." He declared forcefully, striding forward with heavy challenge to stand barely a step before Tulariq. He had no intention of standing accused of anything by someone under his own Command. "I am a _Patriot_."

The old woman sighed feelingly. "I have seen my full sad measure of Patriots as well. You are guilty of Treason, and you would die – if I did not need you alive. But hear me well; only your position in your colony keeps you alive."

"There will be no peace. Not without the total destruction of the Drailen."

Tulariq put the gun back into her holster. "When Nitxe recovers we shall vote."

"I'm afraid, General," Archer said, "that we have no time for that."

Going over to the intercom near the Imaging Chamber, he pressed the activation button. "Archer to the Bridge."

"T'Pol here."

"As discussed."

xxx

Deep in the fortified and hidden compound of the Drailen colony Zilnalin, General Knape Onurclad looked up from the papers on his desk when one of the three alien radios captured from his former prisoners beeped a dual tone. Annoyed at being interrupted, he wondered again why he had not smashed them.

Reaching out, he grabbed the offending device and lifted the gold lid upon it. "Who is there?"

"This is Captain Archer aboard the Enterprise."

"What do you want?" He had had his fill of the disembodied voice, and resolved that after this interruption, if it did not yield satisfactory results, he would destroy the three devices.

"Merely to have the answer to a question. Are you the leader of your colony?"

Onurclad could not believe the impertinence of the question. "I am _General_ Knape Onurclad, and I _Command_ this sovereign force."

"Thank you."

Onurclad was horrified to see his hand that held the device, arm and all of his body rapidly – and painlessly – dissolve in a burst of scintillating light. By the time he thought to cry out he had no lungs with which to draw breath, nor a throat with which to shriek.

xx

A white room faded into existence about the horrified General, and the first thing he saw was a trio of blue uniformed soldiers surrounding him with handguns drawn. They wore the same uniform as his erstwhile prisoners, though their uniforms were bordered in red stripes rather than the man's yellow or the woman's blue. Beyond them stood more blue uniforms, and green uniforms of the hated Manaxians!

Not caring how this mad abduction had taken place, he dropped the small radio and even before it clattered to the metal deck his gun was clear of its holster.

The soldier on his right fired his gun, a flash of light impacting faster than the eye could see into his right forearm, and his gun slipped from his numb fingers even before he could aim it, the impact even louder on the deck than the smaller device's had been. He clutched his arm, unable to feel anything.

"Welcome aboard." A tall man in a blue uniform, this one with a set of yellow stripes accenting the cloth, said to him in fluent Bethesnan from across the room, his voice dripping with heavy irony.

"So, now you have captured _me_." He observed with equal irony.

"I prefer to thing of it as an 'enthusiastic invitation'. Believe it or not, you are a 'guest' aboard the Enterprise."

"A guest?" The word clearly had a bad taste. As Archer glanced at his other 'guests', he could see the feeling was mutual. He was happy that Tulariq was the only one of the Manaxians who was armed, and had to trust she would not use her weapon. Things were progressing very rapidly, enough to keep all of them off balance. He hoped to keep them so.

The Security Officers keeping the factions well apart, Archer reached out again for the intercom button. "Travis?"

"Aye, sir."

"Have you established a heading?"

"Yes, sir. Ready on your order."

"Break orbit; ahead warp 4.9." He turned off the intercom, and was instantly barraged with a deluge of outraged questions. No one was happy about being so precipitously kidnapped. Tulariq's was the most vocal of the protests until Archer's next words silenced the room. "We are on our way to Bethesna."

"_What_?" Guerah demanded, the first to regain his voice.

"If I cannot convince you to end your war, perhaps your own people can. It will take us 13 of our hours to reach your home world. If you behave yourselves, you can make the trip in quarters that are being set aside for you; under guard, of course. You will also have reasonable access to some parts of the ship, under our direction.

"If you do not behave yourselves, you will make the trip in our brig. Either way, you _will_ be making it."

It was not the first time that he had faced a room full of people unhappy with a decision of his, nor would it be the last.

This time, however, he felt quite satisfied about it.

x

But while his cautious attention was on the various soldiers scattered about the room, Liz Cutler had drifted inconspicuously away from the foot of Nitxe's bed and her partner toward Tia Anlor's biobed. She was silent, not wanting to draw attention to herself or her feelings; for, in facing the 'Commandant' she and Travis had known under the planet's surface, her spirit was in turmoil.

She had been furious before, focusing her rage on Nitxe, and a half hour later had been struggling to save her life. That the woman had been stabbed so soon after they had 'fought' over her own knife was a sharp blade that pierced Liz's own soul, anger turning to unreasoning guilt.

But now, seeing this monster who had orchestrated her pain, anger was overwhelmed by fear, by a mindless and horrible terror. That she had no reason to be afraid of this man made no difference – she was afraid. Terribly, horribly afraid of a man who could not touch her, who could not hurt her, but who had hurt her worse than she had ever been hurt in her life.

She felt a soft cool hand close over hers and looked down, seeing Tia looking up at her, a reassuring message in her silent golden eyes. She knew Tia knew why she was afraid, why she was shaking; that the former Resistance Fighter had known her own share of terror, but the comfort did not help. She was scared, too scared to be helped – by anything.

"Ca -." Her voice quivered and she bit it back, then tried again. Normally she would not _think_ of interrupting her Captain, but she couldn't help herself. She could not keep quiet; the fear that made her tremble driving her. "Captain?" She said louder, breaking his attention.

Jonathan Archer turned around, momentarily surprised by the distracting voice across the room. When he saw Cutler, her hand held by Tia's, he was annoyed at himself for not having thought of this ahead of time. That, he chastened himself, was the price of letting one's frustrations dictate one's actions.

"P – permission to be excused?"

"Granted." He glanced at the trio of Security Guards. There was one more person to be removed from the field of fire. "Cein, escort her."

"Aye, sir." The tall man turned from the monster that had hurt his beloved, glad of the opportunity to be put out of reach of the man, cautiously not revealing any of his feelings by word or act. He started directly for the door, pressing the button to open it. Cutler started out, not looking back.

"So," Onurclad said, recognizing the woman, "I knew you were a coward."

Cutler halted, whirling, fury stealing her voice. She did not take a step, even though she wanted to charge this man and tear his throat out. She did nothing that would make her Captain say anything to her. Cein did not reach out to her – for a long moment no one did anything.

It took that long for Liz to get her rage under control. Not saying anything, she turned and stalked out the open door, followed by her 'escort'.

Archer turned to the 'visiting' General, almost nose to nose with the brown / grey uniformed man. For several seconds they just stared at one another, neither moving nor blinking, Archer's anger coming up against the wall of the other man's. Then, not breaking contact, Archer spoke. "Ling, MacPhierson, escort our 'guest' to the brig."

"Aye, sir." Ling replied with vast satisfaction. He and MacPhierson were both very well acquainted with their partner and friend's situation. Both, in fact the entire Security staff, had heard the story of the abuse Elizabeth Cutler had endured, and knew they had the man responsible for it.

No 'accident' would befall the newcomer on the way to the brig, but both men devoutly hoped their prisoner would offer some resistance.

x

Elizabeth Cutler turned right at the first junction, went a few feet down this corridor, and then stopped. "You don't have to 'escort' me." She said to the man behind her, not looking back.

"I know, Beth." He confirmed. "I'm not. The Captain just wanted to give us both chance to save face. He knew if I stayed I'd only be thinking of ways to tear that bastard limb from limb."

She smiled, still facing forward. "I know." He put his hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away. "No. I don't want to be comforted, and we're both on duty." Personal lives, displays of affection; they were for off duty – or behind closed doors.

"Where are you going?" He felt she should go back to her quarters, to her safe place – she was still shaking – but he would not say so.

"I don't know. What time is it?"

"1321."

"The Mess Hall." She decided, looking back over her shoulder. "And you?"

She rather liked the speculative look and somewhat sadistic smile that appeared upon his features.

"I can't go back; but I think I'll suggest to Lt. Reed that I switch duty posts with Andrea Carstairs. The Captain will certainly confine this Onurclad for the duration; I think it will do him bad to be guarded by a woman."

Liz turned fully toward him, grinning up at him. "You're sexy when you're devious."


	13. How Can We Forgive?

Chapter Thirteen

How can we forgive?

Liz Cutler strode rapidly down the corridor, still trembling in the aftereffects of fury and deeply resented panic; so shaken she could barely walk. The sight of that monster who had orchestrated a series of brutal beatings had torn at her self-control, and it was only with the greatest of effort that she could keep from lashing out. She could not believe how badly she was trembling; fury and a terrible fear giving way to feelings she could neither express nor repress.

Acutely aware of the time, she hurried to the Mess Hall, knowing that the help she needed could be found there; not in food for the body but relief for the soul.

Pressing the button beside the door, she stepped through as it opened, coming to a sharp stop.

x

The large room was not set up as it usually was, but had been modified for a special purpose. The two round tables at the far right had been moved back, a 'recently' installed rectangular one pulled away from the wall against which it was normally 'stored', and was covered by a green cloth which draped down its front to the floor. Upon it stood a gold stand upon which lay a large red book, the pages of which were edged in gold.

Beyond the covered table stood a woman wearing ancient and traditional flowing green clothing, the outermost layer of which was a garment that covered her from neck down past her knees. It was modestly decorated with a band of green of a deeper shade that ran down its center, and two bands reached down from her shoulders to meet the vertical band at chest height. At the intersection was woven an ornate golden crown, through which a gold trimmed cross of red rested. A more ornate cross of red, white, black and gold, comprising four individual emblems was suspended from a green band, reaching almost to the embroidered cross and crown.

The woman had her arms raised outward to her sides, so that the Chasuble stretched from wrist to wrist. She and the seven crewmen and women scattered widely throughout the room recited familiar, ancient words in quiet unison.

"Almighty and everliving God, we thank you for feeding us with the spiritual food of the most precious Body and Blood of your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ; and for assuring us in these holy mysteries that we are living members of the Body of your Son, and heirs of your eternal kingdom. And now, Father, send us out to do the work you have given us to do, to love and serve you as faithful witnesses of Christ our Lord. To him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen."

x

Reverend Patricia McCabe closed the book on the stand before her, centering it on the table. All else that had been on the table had already been removed to a nearby round table. Looking up at the seven, now eight crewpersons, she told them;

"Go forth into the world in peace. Cheer the saddened, visit the lonely and the sick, pray for those who mourn, the dying, the dead. Do all within your power to make this world, God's world, a better place in which to live." She raised her hand toward them, two fingers upraised in the ancient and traditional manner, moving her hand in a familiar way each person in the room copied on their own bodies. "And now may the blessing of God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit rest upon us and those we love this day and forevermore."

Her eyes then met Liz's as she stood by the closed door, and seemed to speak directly to her.

"Let us go forth into the world in peace, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit."

"Thanks be to God." All eight answered.

xx

It was Reverend McCabe's practice, in keeping with her duties, to offer 'daily' Noonday prayers following the lunch hours for any who wished to attend. This was slightly more complicated than it seemed on a ship with three duty shifts. On such a ship as this it meant that, on a rotating basis, she was offering such services in the fifth hour; at 0500, 1300 and 2100 on rotating days, so that once every three days there is an opportunity for Gamma, Alpha and Beta Shifts to attend a 'Noonday' Service. Sunday there is a 1000 Mass.

Of course, such a schedule, adopted for the convenience of the crew so that twice a week there was an opportunity to be seized, meant that, being on Alpha's 0800 to 1600 'day', four times a week she was doing so well before her 'dawn' or deep into her own 'night'.

The other seven crewpersons departed after a few words, returning to their duties. McCabe, rather than addressing Liz directly, turned her attention to 'breaking down' her supplies, starting by removing the gold stand and red book to the nearby round table.

Not wanting the woman to be left doing everything alone, Liz stepped over to help her. Together they brought the green cloth up from where it hung in front onto the table top, smoothing it into place. Then, taking the edges hanging off either end, they brought them up until the edges met in the middle of the table. "You don't seem to be here for an afternoon snack." McCabe observed.

"No." She admitted as they folded the cloth again, this time the remaining ends brought up to touch in the center. "I actually was hoping we could talk – if that's all right." A third twin folding, and then the green cloth was folded in half.

"It's always all right, child."

The chestnut haired woman, barely forty years of age, frequently addressed everyone as 'child', most especially those under her care. It made Liz feel sometimes like she was talking to her mother, so many thousands of light-years distant. McCabe picked up the cloth, laying it in Cutler's outstretched arms, and then put two stoppered glass cruets into her hands. "What shall we talk about?"

She turned again, picking up two covered chalices, a golden one covered with an intricate collection of traditional materials in the same shade as the covering and the Chasuble, the silver one covered by only a strip of white linen. She was not surprised not to receive an answer to her query; sometimes just knowing what one wanted to talk about was harder than it seemed.

Without pressing, she led the way out through the rear door which led to the Captain's Mess, which she used as an improvised Sacristy, leaving the large book behind. She would return for it later, when she retrieved her 'traveling stone' and pushed the reserved table against the wall, out of the way until tomorrow at 2100.

Setting everything on the table that dominated the room, McCabe was particularly aware that she was again breaking her long standing personal rule of not allowing anyone into her Sacristy while she was vesting or divesting. To date, she had done it only once, and that was to admit Malcolm Reed in a time when both of them were being tested by circumstances that tore at their respective souls.

This time, she realized, it was probably also best to forgo the rule. Whatever the suddenly silent young woman was not telling her yet, it was clearly important; deeply so. Not pushing, she first removed the metal cross from about her neck, pulling her chestnut hair free, setting the emblem on the table, and then drew the large green Chasuble over her head, reaching for a wide hanger. Settling it on the metal, she hung it on a discreetly placed hook. She now wore a long white alb which covered her to her feet, held at her waist by a 15 foot long white cord, knotted at each end. Into the complexly tied cincture a long green stole, hanging from her shoulders to cross her chest was inserted.

This stole had a small cross and crown embroidered into each end, about a foot from the edge, and Liz knew there was a third in the center. McCabe was about to remove this green stole, but reconsidered, thinking it best to leave it where it was. Instead she looked expectantly at Cutler.

The silence strained Cutler's nerves, and finally she had to fill it. She wished she knew how.

"Mother McCabe, how do we forgive?"

"Child, you've known the answer to that since you _were_ a child."

"No, I don't mean just forgive, I mean _forgive_."

McCabe sat down, looking up at her friend. "Perhaps you should tell me what lead to this question."

xx

"And then all I wanted to do to this bastard was tear him to _pieces_!" She declared, not holding her anger back. "It was bad enough feeling as I did with Nitxe, wanting to hurt her and not wanting to, hating _her_ for what her people had done to me, to John, to Tia, because that monster was out of reach; and then a few minutes later performing surgery to get a knife _out_ of her chest; and then suddenly this – this _monster_ is in the same room with me and all I can do is quake with fear and be so mad I wanted to _kill_ him! I had to get out of there. I had to."  
"Did you want to kill him?" McCabe asked softly from the chair next to hers. She still wore the white alb, cincture and green stole crossed over her chest.

"No, the Captain needs him alive for some reason, that's why he brought him on board and I can't interfere in - ." She halted as McCabe raised her hand.

"_Did_ you want to kill him?" She asked again.

Liz sought the answer, and could not remember the last time she had been asked so difficult a question. It took her a long time to realize she had her answer.

"No. No, I didn't. I _thought_ I did, I really believed I did, but I don't." She looked at McCabe with haunted eyes. "I've had to do a lot of soul searching since the incident with Nitxe. I hated her – I thought I really _hated_ her. But then when I got back to my quarters I looked into the mirror… I didn't like what I saw."

"What did you see?"

It took Elizabeth a long time to answer. She wanted to forget the memory, and wanted to confess it.

"There was a monster staring back at me. And it was wearing _my_ face."

x

"We all have our monsters we have to face, and they are never pretty. You're lucky you recognized yours so soon." Liz could not answer, could not look up. "Hate is a terrible thing."

"I keep telling myself I don't hate them." She looked up. "But I don't know what I feel instead. When I was working on that girl with Phlox and Dina – and she really is just a girl; Phlox says she's just twenty, three years younger than me; too young to be a soldier no matter what rank she is or what she did before the war – all I could see was a bleeding woman who should be more concerned with finding a date to a harvest dance, not someone I was struggling over a knife with.

"I'd hated her – hated her whole _race_ – blamed her for John's death. She offered me the chance for revenge, was willing to sacrifice her life to me, and I couldn't do it. I think she knew, was trying to tell me, but I could barely listen. All I had was my anger, my hatred, and then I saw her on that table and all I could think was; 'I have to save her. I can't let my hatred be the cause of her death.'"

"And this General?"

x

She could not keep her eyes on the other woman's. "He's different. I want to hate him." But as quickly as she had raised the resolve, it deserted her. "But every time I do I think of that monster in my bathroom mirror. She was ugly – inside – and I don't think I can bear to see her again.

"But I don't know how to make her go away. I hate him, I want to make him pay for what he did to us, what he did to _me_, but that's not me. I could always forgive when anyone hurt me – before. But now, now I can't." She tried to convey how much she wanted to; wondered if she did.

Patricia McCabe reflected upon Cutler's initial question, the one seemingly torn from her tormented soul. 'How do we forgive?'

x

"Child, to forgive is the hardest thing any of us are called to do, and the most essential. It is also the thing we are taught in no uncertain terms that we must do."

Liz nodded. "That 490 thing."

"Excuse me?"

"Aren't we taught we have to forgive someone 490 times? 70 times 7?"

McCabe shook her head, chagrinned at being caught off guard. "It's not exactly like that. Jesus was talking to a simpler people. Where we would consider the difference between infinity squared and infinity cubed as a complex question of mathematical philosophy, to those people twenty two hundred years ago it meant infinity.

"Perhaps the simplest way to express it is to remember that we are to forgive without reservation. God gave us a very demanding standard to uphold. 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.' If we want to be _forgiven_, that's how we have to forgive. If we're going to forgive partially or reservedly, so will we be forgiven; so we had better learn to forgive as we _want_ to be forgiven."

"What if we can't? What if _I_ can't?"

"I've known you to be a forgiving woman." She reminded her.

"It's gotten hard. Harder, I think, than I can manage this time. Today I was holding a knife to a woman's chest, and I was sure I wanted to get revenge until the knife was pressing into her chest, and less than a half hour later I'm helping Phlox pull another knife _out_ of her chest. Then, just now, Captain Archer beams aboard the – the man who ordered my torture, who enjoyed my pain. I looked at that monster, and I just wanted to …"

"To kill?" Patricia asked into the silence.

Liz shook her head. "No. I didn't want to kill him, but I'm enough of a hypocrite to admit I wanted him dead." She could read the disappointment in the Priest's face. "We've worked so much together, I guess all my higher ambitions and hopes don't mean a hell of a lot if I can want this."

"It's a vast difference between being human and being a monster."

"I'm not a monster." She protested.

"I'm glad we agree."

x

"Then what am I?"

"It's important to remember that you're a human woman trying to work through a very terrible thing that has happened to you. It's natural to be ambivalent. None of us truly sees clearly. We see in a mirror darkly. And sometimes that mirror shows us things we really do not want to see, but that we nevertheless need to see."

Liz sat back, her sigh one of relief. "I thought I was too far gone."

"None of us are too far gone. Even if you had plunged that knife in yourself and enjoyed it; you would not be too far gone, not that you could not be brought back – if you wanted to be."

"I don't _ever_ want to be that person."

"You won't. It's not in your nature."

"I just hope I never change that much."

"You won't. But speaking of change," she slapped the younger woman's knee, "beat it because _I_ have to change and finish up before Chef comes in here and I have to deal with _him_."

"All right." Liz answered with a smile that was more genuine, more relieved, than she'd expected it could be. "Thank you, 'Mom'."

"Don't mention it." She drew the ends of the stole out of her cincture. "What time did you say we're supposed to be at that planet?"

"About 0500 I think."

McCabe made a quick calculation. Fortunately, it was yesterday and the day after 'tomorrow' that she had to contend with an 0500 'noonday' service. "Then I'd better get to bed early this evening. I have a feeling I should find some way to be on the bridge when we get there."

xxx

'Sick Bay is just getting too busy.' Phlox reflected as he considered his three patients that evening. He'd left them in the care of the huge Samuel Harris while he and the Bethesnan Doctor Alvarku shared dinner in the Mess Hall; but now they were back at 'work'.

Together they examined the three young women, the tall grey haired Alvarku examining his countrywomen while Phlox passed a molecular scanner over Tia's chest, satisfied at the readings. He turned his attention to the sleeping Corporal Korvakai while Alvarku examined the more seriously injured Nitxe.

Privately, he was glad the three women were asleep, each held unconscious by appropriate medications. He did not know how Korvakai or Nitxe would take to the enforced convalescence, but Anlor kept trying to get up to leave. It would be at least two more days before he cleared the Auran, but as long as she was free from pain she was not willing to remain in place.

He'd almost considered reducing her pain masking medication, but would never do so. He knew her 'restlessness' was deeply engrained into her from her lifelong captivity by the Silurians. A slave did not dare show incapacity; there was too much risk of being put down permanently.

Instead, he reflected that it was perhaps a good thing that she was so 'dynamic'. The way this mission was shaping up, he felt it was a very real possibility that he would need the bed space.

They had eaten with the soldiers of General Tulariq's 'delegation'; the four senior officers of which had joined their commander in the Captains' Mess with Commander T'Pol. None of the men seemed particularly happy about their 'kidnap', but they were holding at their General's orders, looking forward instead to their return home. Perhaps where their leaders could not end this war, the authorities on Bethesna could.

At least Captain Archer seemed sure that they could. For now, that was enough.

xxx

At 0519 Jonathan Archer sat in his command chair in the center of the round bridge, a veritable crowd of people about him. There were his Officers from Alpha shift, on duty over three hours early; there were the Bethesnans: Tulariq and her Officers and soldiers, Colonel Guerah and General Onurclad, both of whom were under close scrutiny by a half dozen armed Security Officers, while Major Nitxe and Corporal Korvakai sat in two wheeled chairs on the upper platform near Reed's station, Doctor's Phlox and Alvarku attending nearby. Patricia McCabe, though she had maintained her resolve to be available on the bridge as well, shared the rear Tactical Sensor station with Ensign Ann Anderson, a closer approach being impossible.

There was an electric tension that was heavy on the bridge as the Bethesnans anticipated their long sought after return to their world, as well as the prospect for peace that this homecoming offered. Speculation about the end of the war both at home and in the colonies had been rampant for the thirteen hour voyage, and now as the minutes passed the tension was becoming unbearable.

"Approaching the Kaar'naq system." Travis finally reported after what seemed an eternity.

"Drop to full impulse." Archer ordered, feeling his own stomach tight.

On the screen before them the rushing stars stopped their motion, and in the center of the screen appeared a small spherical object, three quarters lit by the Kaar'naq sun. It was still too far away to resolve detail clearly, but as it grew slowly and steadily upon the screen the feelings of every newcomer flared intently as they recognized their home.

"Bethesna." Tulariq breathed as she stood beside Archer. "I'd despaired of ever seeing it again."

"Oh, to be _home_ again!" The woman at her side, her third in command, exalted.

x

The planet, now becoming clear to the naked eye, grew larger still, large enough to distinguish familiar features. "Home." Nitxe whispered, tears glinting in her eyes as she sat with Korvakai near Reed's station.

"Home." Korvakai echoed as the brown planet grew larger still, continents and oceans resolving themselves into lakes and rivers and familiar cities surrounded by brown.

"But what's _wrong_ with it?" One of the soldiers asked in a voice hushed more by horror than joy.

"T'Pol?" Archer called in a dead voice. He had already seen the report. The Vulcan consulted her sensor readings while the throng stared in mute horror at the viewscreen.

"Nitrogen / oxygen atmosphere heavy with inert particles; no indication of power being generated anywhere on the planet. No indications of living flora anywhere. All plant life is dead."

No one breathed as the planet grew to fill the screen and Travis eased the ship into orbit.

"There are vast numbers of corpses, both animal and sapient, in a state of advanced decay. All habitations show near total destruction. Sensors report an extremely virulent pathogen in the air, in the water, in the ground. I can detect no sign of life whatsoever."

The woman's controlled tones only made her words more horrible, but Archer then took up the narrative.

"We encountered this world some months ago." He stood up, stepping closer to the screen. Any who would look at him had to look upon the brown planet as well. He stared at the planet; better than looking into the eyes of the men and woman behind him. "An artificially developed virus had destroyed _all_ plant and animal life long before we got here. It's still active on the planet, so none of you can go down; else you would bring the plague back to Mandar.

"We told Major Nitxe earlier that we update our star charts with the name of the world as known by its citizens. In this case, there was no one to ask, so to us the planet retains the name given by our stellar cartographers." He turned around, looking at the devastated Bethesnans.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Cestus III."


	14. Epilogue

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Jonathan Archer sat in his Ready Room off the ship's bridge, wishing he could shut out the galaxy. An hour ago he had beamed the last of the Bethesnans back to their new home on Mandar, no longer 'Kitaris IV'.

He did not know what would befall the devastated men and women who had shared his ship for 26 hours. Would they, knowing they were the last of their kind, see that the avowed reason for fighting no longer existed and make peace before their own world was destroyed, or would they continue their internecine conflict to the end?

He honestly did not know.

He had made his final report to Admiral Maxwell Forrest, and now stared with unseeing eyes at the 'End Transmission' banner that held upon his monitor screen. He had known how this last 'interview' would go, but that had not made it any easier.

Starfleet would send what resources they could in the form of negotiators to help the 'Mandarans' settle their differences. Neither man knew if it would work, but both knew they had done all they could, that the matter was now reduced to prayer.

The final part of their conversation concerned a more personal matter for Archer, the fate of a member of his crew. In that, each man had been equally grim.

He reached out, touching a button. There was no way to delay this any longer. "Malcolm?" His tone was dead. He could work no life into it.

"Yes, sir?"

He glanced at the chronometer on his desk. Was it really so early in the day? "Computer reports Miss Cutler is in the Mess Hall. Have a Security detail meet us there."

"Aye, sir. May I recommend Ensign Cein lead the detail?"

Archer nodded, belatedly remembering that Reed could not see him. Having the woman's beloved there would make things easier – and harder. "Yes."

xxx

Elizabeth and Hoshi left the buffet table in the Mess Hall, going over to their 'favorite' table near the viewport, Hoshi sitting in her usual chair with her back to the view. She saw it from the bridge every day, so she was content to let others enjoy the view at mealtime. Liz sat in the seat opposite her, the one Tia usually used, rather than her usual one to Hoshi's right.

After nearly a year, it felt strange just being the two of them again, but their Auran friend would not be recovered enough to join them for quite some time.

"So, how are you holding up?" Hoshi asked, getting settled.

"Okay, I guess. Phlox still has me on painkillers; dimetrizhenol, but he says as long as I insist upon working he's keeping me on three quarters strength. He says if I still feel some pain, I won't be inclined to push too hard."

"I guess he knows what he's doing." Hoshi said. Personally, she'd prefer to feel none at all, but she had to admit that it was good for safety. Her friend would be less likely to hurt herself unknowingly if she could feel something. She looked at the plate Liz was attacking. "I see it hasn't hurt your appetite."

Liz looked up from her scrambled eggs and bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast and juice. "Eating for two, you know."

"Keep that up, and _Michael_ is going to need a diet." She observed with a grin.

"I'll work it off in the gym."

x

Before Hoshi could respond their attention was diverted by an unexpected arrival. Mother Patricia McCabe pushed a wheeled chair into place on the table's right, surprising both women. "Well," Hoshi exclaimed, immensely pleased to see the young golden woman seated in the chair, "look who's here!"

"Good to see you up." Liz enthused, delighted.

"Phlox me say did that out of Sick Bay I may go 'for a while'. Better feeling I am."

"Actually," Patricia corrected, going around the table behind Liz and assuming the remaining seat, "he said 'twenty minutes', or until you get tired, whichever comes first."

Tia smiled sardonically. "Misa serp u Aur-neeta nyasi." She admitted with heavy resignation.

"Pardon?"

Hoshi smiled, noticing from her position facing the door that a large number of crewmen entered at once, along with the Captain, T'Pol and Phlox. "Loosely translated, it's 'Can't bribe a Priest'."

"And don't you forget it." McCabe 'warned' her charge.

"Liz, I thought Dina Samuels fixed you up." Hoshi remembered. Her friend had looked considerably better the previous day.

"She did." Liz admitted. "I looked great, but it wasn't me. I mean, it was me, but – hell, I look like a lunar roadmap, and no amount of make-up is going to change that. It's just a 'cover-up'. Everyone's seen me; so I figured 'why bother?'"

"You've got more guts than I do." Hoshi replied, thinking she would never step out of her quarters without looking her best.

"All of it was gone last night after my workout; I sweated it off. There seemed no point."

McCabe looked at her, confused. "I was in the gym most of the end of Beta with Malcolm. I didn't see…" Her voice trailed off as the look in the younger woman's eyes told her exactly what sort of 'workout' she had had, and the three human women grinned in perfect understanding.

"_There she is_!" The loud shout tore through the Mess Hall, startling everyone.

"_Grab her_!" An answering shout filled the room.

Everyone in the Hall turned to the knot of men and women just a few feet into the room, and Liz was shocked to turn and see two Security Officers approaching their table from different directions, forming a pincer charge.

No, not headed for their table. Headed right for _her_.

She was half out of her seat, sudden fright making her want to run, mad though the thought was, when she felt a hand clasp tightly about her left hand. "Don't try to run." A woman's voice directed. She turned back, incredulous, to find Patricia McCabe holding her hand in a firm grip. "It'll only go harder for you."

x

An instant later two men fastened upon her arms, their grips even tighter. She looked frantically from one to the other, astounded and frightened. There was no gentleness in their grip, no friendship in their eyes. "Captain, we have the prisoner," one of the guards called back across the room.

"Bring her."

The two men hauled Liz up to her feet. "What the _Hell_ are you doing?" She demanded, terrified. "Let me go!" They dragged her away from the table, and she struggled frantically, unable to resist their strength. "Leave me _alone_. I haven't done _anything_!"

But she did not get dragged two feet before a woman stepped up to block their path.

Dina Samuels stared at Liz with angry eyes. "You've had this coming for a long time." She accused, but could not get near as one of the guards shouldered her out of the way. But as they dragged Liz, despite her frantic and terrified struggles, toward the Captain, a man and woman blocked their path.

"You're _finally_ going to get what's coming to you." Sarah Dutton told her coldly.

"I'm glad to be here to see this." Sam Harris spat the words down at her.

"Sam, Sarah, what the Hell? _What's going on_?"

"Out of the way." The guard on her left arm commanded, pushing her between her 'friends'. Liz was so scared she could not imagine things could get worse until, just before the guards dragged her roughly before her waiting C.O., Jim Cein stepped in front of her.

"Jim, _help me_! Get these _maniacs_ off m-" The two men forced her arms forward, hands together, and Liz's heart stopped when Jim clamped cold steel restraints about her wrists. "_Jim_!"

"Elizabeth Megan Cutler, I arrest you." He grabbed her right arm and turned, pulling her forward as she stared at him in shock, unable to believe any of this madness. "Captain; the Prisoner," he presented. Phlox and T'Pol stood on either side of the tall Officer, and neither was pleased.

"Cutler, I'm very disappointed in you." Archer told her gravely.

"Captain, please! I don't _know_ what's going on, _but I didn't do anything wrong_! I swear I _didn't_!"

"But you did. And word of your ongoing offences has reached all the way back to Earth." His hard voice cut through the room like a knife, slicing into her and a score of startled witnesses. "Ensign Elizabeth Megan Cutler, you stand accused of Meritorious Service, Diligence, Ability and Outstanding Performance of Duty. How do you plead?"

"_Not Guilty_!" She exclaimed frantically. "I can ex –." His words registered belatedly in her terrified mind. "_What_?"

x

"Per Starfleet Orders you are hereby found 'guilty' of all charges and sentenced to be Promoted to the rank of Lieutenant. You are further sentenced to assume command of the Life Sciences Division of this ship; incarceration in the Laboratories to begin immediately." His features broke into a grin. "And may God have mercy on your soul."

Elizabeth Cutler stared up at the man, so shocked she could not speak, could not blink. She was barely aware of the restraints being removed from her wrists.

x

"Would you care to do the honors?" Archer asked, extending his closed hand to Jim Cein.

"With pleasure, sir." Jim said, accepting the unseen item from his Captain and then turning Liz by her shoulders toward him. He grasped the zipper of her uniform at her collar and lowered it far enough to allow him to reach in and join the back to the front of a small silver pin, which gleamed next to the one formerly designating her as 'ensign', above the blue piping of her division. Restoring the zipper, he stepped back, and executed a smart salute.

"Congratulations, _Lieutenant_."

Everyone in the room joined and held the salute. When Liz found she had enough control to move her body at will, she returned it; her eyes still locked on Jim's, her hand visibly shaking.

"Would you like to say a few words, Lieutenant?" Archer, at her left, asked. She turned, looking up at the tall man.

"I'm not going to faint." She assured him with a shaky smile, recalling Hoshi's stunning promotion of weeks before. "I'm not going to faint." She said breathily, took a deep breath and admitted: "Oh, Hell, I'm a fragging _liar_!"

She felt her knees go weak and leaned to her right, coming up against the body of her lover as he grasped her, supporting her. She did not faint, but for several moments she had no desire to move away.

xx

For many minutes the scene was mild chaos; everybody wanted to get close enough to congratulate and compliment the new Officer. Her closest friends and coworkers also 'apologized' for their parts in 'rattling' her.

What had started as a standard breakfast evolved into a party, and as news spread the Mess Hall became quite crowded; newcomers arrived to congratulate their fellow while those already there showed no inclination to leave.

"Sir, I don't understand." The new Lieutenant Cutler protested helplessly to her C.O., feeling like the universe was still spinning out of her control. "When we spoke last, you told me –." Her mind was in such turmoil she was now not entirely sure what he had told her, but it had not been good.

"I told _Forrest_ that capitulating to Marin's smear campaign was not going to help Starfleet; that it was only in fighting her garbage with the truth that we were going to have any hope; that Enterprise could not lose another member of your team and that you were by far the best qualified of the candidates for the job."

"I – I don't know what to say. I won't let you down. I swear I won't."

"I know."

x

A few minutes later Hoshi Sato had a chance to get a moment's quiet time with her friend, handing her a bubbling glass. "So, Lieutenant."

"So, Lieutenant." She returned in kind, her voice no longer shaking.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks, pal." Their glasses rang as they touched.

"Whoever thought a pair like us would make it?"

"I put long odds on it."

"Any plans?"

"'Plans', she says." Liz scoffed; then reached a decision. "For my first official act, I'm going to sleep for a week."

"Don't count on it. Have you any idea how much 'paperwork' comes with that second pip?"

"The way John used to crab? Of course I do. That's why I need my beauty sleep."

"Won't help." Hoshi hid her grin behind her glass, taking a sip of champagne.

"What, the paperwork or my beauty?"

"Both."

"Cheers." Their glasses rang.

Jim Cein appeared beside Liz, handing her another glass. She looked 'helplessly' at the two bubbling crystals, but Hoshi just drifted away, leaving her friend to deal with this minor problem.

"Congratulations, honey." Jim told her.

"Thank you, darling. But please, don't _ever_ scare me like that again."

"No promises. Beth." He told her with a grin. "You just might make Lieutenant Commander some day."

"God forbid."

He drew closer so he could speak quietly to her alone, his lips near her ear. "Does this mean I have to salute you all the time now?"

She leaned in very close to him. "Only when I'm dressed." She whispered, and pressed her lips to his.

The chimes of silverware striking crystal glasses were loud, but neither could truly be said to hear them.


End file.
